Into Darkest Night
by Deadly Chakram
Summary: The Quest had failed and the Ring reclaimed. Sauron used his power to cover all the world in darkness. But even when all seemed lost, a glimmer of hope was rekindled in the form of Legolas. AU. Warning:Violence and elf torture. Mithril Awards semifinalist
1. Chapter One

"Into Darkest Night"

RATED: PG-13 for violence and elf torture

SUMMARY: The Quest had failed and the Ring reclaimed. Sauron used his power to cover all the world in darkness. But even when all seemed lost, a glimmer of hope was rekindled in the form of Legolas. AU. Warning: Violence and elf torture.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own any of the following characters, places, or ideas. Everything remains the property of the great writer J.R.R. Tolkien and possibly New Line Cinema to some extent. I make absolutely nothing from this story that I can use to pay the bills, but I do it solely for the pleasure of writing and in hopes that I can entertain you, dear readers. So please, feed the ego of a writer and submit a review! Oh yes, and since this is an Alternate Universe story, liberties will be taken. Just thought I would forewarn you all before you all come out and yell at me. grin 

LOTR…LOTR… LOTR…LOTR… LOTR…LOTR… LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR… LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…

"Let the Lord of the black land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf slowly backed away as the black gates of Mordor creaked open. The cracked dirt beneath their feet trembled, playing witness to the army that still remained hidden, for the moment, from their view. Inch by inch the gates opened until an opening wide enough for several people to pass through together was made. A fear stole over the hearts of the gathered army of Gondorians and Rohirrim. Out of the gloom emerged a figure on horseback, clad in black mail and dull armor, sword hanging from his hip. In one hand was a small bundle which was promptly thrown at the four members of the Fellowship. In his heart, Legolas felt sick, perceiving some awful revelation within the dirty bag.

"A message from Sauron," was all that the disfigured being said.

Aragorn stooped to pick up the bag, opening it once he stood tall. A gasp of horror escaped the man's lips and he dropped the bag, which hit the ground with a dull thud. Then two objects rolled forth and Legolas saw what the contents of the bag were. For there on the ground, staring back at him with blank eyes, were the heads of two hobbits, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee.

Frodo and Sam were dead. The Fellowship had failed. In his heart, Legolas knew that the ring was with Sauron. The world would fall, he suddenly realized.

Now the gates were fully opened, and the full extent of Sauron's hidden army was laid bare. The warriors, disheartened by the sudden shift that they perceived in Aragorn's mood, drew their swords hesitantly. But Aragorn unsheathed Anduril defiantly. And so the battle began.

It did not take long for the small army of Gondor and Rohan to become utterly outnumbered and severely beaten. Within an hour, orcs with the help of mountain trolls had cut the number of Aragorn's company down to less than half of what they had begun with. Prince Imrahil and King Eomer of Rohan were dead. Gandalf lay torn and bleeding upon the battlefield, the life slowly fading from him. Aragorn, in an effort to save those that he could, called a retreat and to the surprise of all, the enemy did not give chase.

It was perhaps, that Sauron was once again overconfident in the position that he had gained. His ring was found and his adversaries on the run. The heir of Elandil still lived, it was true, but the dark lord had other plans in store of the King of Gondor. Once he gained enough power, he would deal with Aragorn personally.

The world became covered in shadow. Orcs and other fell creatures roamed the lands freely, killing and destroying at will. The dwarves, in an effort to save themselves, dug far deeper into the mountains than they had ever dared before. But orcs too, could thrive in the darkness of the world of rock and stone, and soon rooted out the dwarves, who were brought in large groups to work building camps for Sauron. In these camps the elves were soon corralled and the agents of Sauron tortured them and began the long and painful process of turning the fair Firstborn into the ruined race of the orcs. But this came too late for Sauron to lay hold of the three elven rings of power, for Legolas had taken the ring that Gandalf had born and turned it over to Elrond after the retreat from the black gate. Then the three had been destroyed, though Legolas did not know in what manner that came to pass. Instead, he had traveled Middle Earth, racing against time to gather whomever of the free folk of Arda that he could, for though they had suffered defeat once, the remaining members of the Fellowship were not going to submit to the will of Sauron. The Final Alliance of the Free Folk banded together to make a stand against Sauron.

Once again the army gathered at the front gate of Mordor, Aragorn, heir of Numenor, heading them all, for he still held the blade that had originally cut the ring from Sauron's hand.

The battle was long and bloody. Both sides lost many of their allies to the cruel bites of sword and arrow. Then in the gloom of the darkened sky, a figure strode forth in shining black armor with a helm almost too terrible to behold. Sauron, his full form regained, had come meaning to end the battle. The legions of orcs and trolls made way as he passed among their ranks. From across the field, Legolas could see the dark lord picking a path to where Aragorn stood. It took several long moments for the elf to battle his way through the din to the man's side, but by then he was too late. Aragorn, raising Anduril high, smote Sauron, and the ring was severed from his body, much like Isildur had done. But this was not before Sauron was able to deal a death stroke of his own. For even as the Gondorian struck out with Anduril, Sauron had brought his own sword down, letting the dull metal blade slice the sinews that bound the man's head to his shoulders.

At that moment, several things happened. Sauron crumbled to the ground, destroyed by the sudden loss of his ring, though all knew that he was not defeated. The eight remaining Nazgul had come, riding upon fell dragon-like beasts, heading fresh legions of orcs and trolls. Groups of oliphant riding Harradrim rushed the Final Alliance from the opposite direction. And in the confusion, the ring was lost.


	2. Chapter Two

Legolas awoke from his troubled sleep in the cold dark post-midnight hours. As always, his dreams were the horrid memory of all that had happened since Frodo and Sam had been killed in Mordor. Wincing as he stretched his sore limbs, he felt with one hand for the secret inner fold in his boot where he kept the one ring hidden, for he alone had been at Aragorn's side when the man had cut the ring from Sauron. And with Aragorn dead, Legolas had taken the ring for his own, hiding it from the enemy for more than half a year.

Shivering suddenly, Legolas wrapped his arms about himself. His time was drawing near, he realized, for his dreams had become more urgently real as of late. Then too, it was becoming clearer by the day that the search for the ring was slowly becoming more lax. Though defeated, Sauron knew that it was only a matter of time before his precious ring was found once more.

And yet, Legolas was hesitant to begin his journey. It was not a desire to keep the ring that softened his resolve, but a fear of the path ahead of him, and of the possibility of failure. If he should fail, his heart told him, all would truly be lost. He was, after all, the last surviving member of the Fellowship. Gandalf had perished after the retreat from the black gate, for though Aragorn had tried valiantly to save the wizard, his wounds were far too great. Merry and Pippin, spies for the Final Alliance of the Free Folk, had been captured by orcs while scouting out an enemy encampment before the last battle. Tortured and finally murdered, Legolas had come across their dismembered bodies days later. Aragorn, too, was dead, beheaded by Sauron himself, for the elf had not been fast enough to reach the man's side to try and protect him. Gimli, it was true, had survived that battle along with Legolas, but in the aftermath, the two had been separated and word had reached Legolas' ears that many of the Lonely Mountain dwarves had been taken and killed for sport by the orcs of the Misty Mountains.

Still, even through his fear, Legolas felt the urgency of his task weigh heavily upon him. He stood in the darkness, his mind made up. His quest would begin at the first opportunity given to him. He already had a store of provisions, dried meats mostly, saved from the scarce meals that the elves were given to survive on. It had meant many days of hunger for the elf, but Legolas knew that his only chance to make it to Mount Doom was to have food and water to last the journey.

Now he took in his surroundings, studying them closely. A few months after the battle at the gate, he had been shot down by a wayward arrow as he tried to protect Elrond, lord of Rivendell, from a surprise attack by Sauron's forces. Bound tightly, several uraks had taken him to Ithilien to an elven prison camp. There the prince had been beaten and tortured, but it was perhaps that none realized him for who he was; elven royalty and one of the Nine Walkers. Thus far, his life had been spared, and the orcs were content to try and bend his will to their own, trying to turn him into an orc himself. Looking around, Legolas could now discern the figures of other elves being moved here and there across the camp. Escape would not be easy. Walls of sheer metal made a circle around the camp, tall and impassible. Every so often, there stood tall ramparts housing skilled archers, some of which had once been counted among Legolas' friends. The evil of Mordor had ruined those poor souls. Of the Firstborn they were no longer, but cruel and cunning among the orcs they had become. Legolas could not hope escape by way of the walls. Now he turned his attention to the far side of the compound, to where the main gate stood, flanked and guarded by several surly urak-hai warriors. Never was that gate left unguarded, and Legolas briefly wondered if escape that way were possible.

At the moment, however, he could not spare the time to ponder the various routes out of his prison. Orc torturers were picking their way towards him, ready to begin his torment anew, Legolas instinctively knew. His resistance to their evil was something that they were not in the least pleased with, though they always stopped short of killing him. His power was great, one of the higher ranking orc officers had said. If they could turn him into one of them without taking his life, he would make a powerful ally. None of the remaining hidden pockets of rebels could hope to be spared for long if Legolas was to be let loose on their trail.

The orcs reached him and Legolas allowed himself to be marched to one of the small tents used for torture. He had long since given in to the demands of his captors, choosing to conserve his strength instead of fighting a battle he could only lose. The orcs normally cracked self-pleased smiles to themselves at the elf's compliance, for in their minds, they had already won the first victory in his transformation.

The tent was small and dirty with blood stains covering the inside. In the center of the interior chamber, a metal spike was driven into the ground with a short, heavy chain protruding from it, at the end of which was a dull manacle. This was the preferred restraint method of the orcs, and now they clasped the manacle tightly around Legolas' neck, after felling him to his knees. Four grim urak-hai torturers came forth, each bearing some cruel device in hand, and they surrounded the spike. No amount of twisting could save any poor soul caught in the middle from the blows that would come.

Instead, Legolas played his part and knelt obediently unmoving in the center of the ring, stripped naked, facing the center spike. His body was oddly relaxed and his pose defeated. He had learned long before not to become tense, for he had trained his mind to move beyond the pain. Surely, he would still tense every now and again at a particularly savage blow, but he had learned to conserve his strength by entering into the waking world of elvish mediation. It was one of the few ways that he could fight back against the orcs and at the same time preserve his mastery over his will.

Now the beatings began. Three of the creatures surrounding him this day held spiked metal bars like clubs and the sharp teeth of the spikes rent Legolas' skin, tearing it in chunks. The other urak held a traditional whip, wielding it with barbaric skill, and it landed everywhere the clubs had neglected. Throughout the ordeal, Legolas made no sound, but when the whip curled around his right leg, cutting into the inner portion of his upper thigh, he had to struggle to suppress a scream. Outside, he could hear the screams of other elves, some quite young by the sound of their anguished voices, and he silently cursed the acuteness of elven hearing.

Dawn broke and still Legolas' torment raged on. He was torn, bleeding, and exhausted, but the urak-hai showed no signs of stopping. They were determined to break his spirit. Faster and harder the blows were rained down upon him, until, in the darkness of his own soul, he wondered how much more he could endure. But he steeled his will and focused his thoughts upon more pleasant things with such force that his mind began to hurt. At last, noon came and passed, and Legolas' tormentors grew weary of their task. The prince's blood soaked the ground and his wounds lay open and unattended.

"Leave him for now," came the command from the orc lieutenant, who was standing nearby watching the ordeal. "We must not kill him."

The others muffled a few curses and reluctantly backed away from the bleeding body on the floor. Then they filed out of the tent, the lieutenant coming up behind them.

Only when he was left utterly alone, did Legolas allow his pent up tears to fall.


	3. Chapter Three

The rest of the day passed and Legolas was freed from the tent, not out of mercy but to assist other elves in fortifying the inner defenses of the metal walls that surrounded the compound. He was weary and his scarcely healed wounds screamed at every movement, but he silently forged on, ever mindful of the orcs that paraded up and down the wall, whips in hand, ready to spring should any elf falter in his task. Still, he did feel somewhat fortunate, as he always did after surviving a torture session. He had been able to get back his own clothing, and that meant the ring was still in his care. It always unnerved him to think how easy it would be for the enemy to reclaim it, for all they had to do was to search his clothing. Yet for all of his fear, Legolas did not trust to leave the ring elsewhere. Sometimes the best place to hide something was right out in the open, he mused to himself. Surely if anyone had the ring, they would not be still within the prison camp walls, or leave it in a place so open. And so, he still had hope.

Still, hope could do little to improve his current situation, so he grit his teeth and continued at the task set before him. Night came swiftly to Ithilien, for the land was close to the gates of Mordor. The land was shrouded in darkness and the wearied elven laborers were given such respite as their captors would allow them, while others were forced to pick up their work and labor by firelight.

Tired almost beyond the point of thought, Legolas stumbled back to the place were he slept, though it was little more than a ragged tent that he shared with a dozen other elves. There he cast himself upon his bedroll, not even caring to tend to his wounds, and entered into a troubled sleep.

It was just after midnight when he awoke suddenly from his dreams. He stood, trying to make sense of what had occurred. Then he heard the sounds of a battle coming from across the compound. An orc, Wormgut, and one of the urak-hai (Legolas could not be certain but it sounded like it was perhaps Rattooth) were arguing over something, perhaps the torture method being used against some poor elf. Intrigued, Legolas cautiously poked his head out from the tent. In the darkness of the night, the darkest one that he had yet witnessed, he could barely discern the group of foul creatures where they stood fighting. Apparently the two leaders' fight had sparked an even greater one and others had joined the fray. His heart in his mouth, Legolas ventured a look towards the gates of the compound. They were still guarded, but now only two sleepy guards stood to the left of the gate, looking away towards the fight and shouting such insults as they could in their own tongue.

This was his chance, Legolas immediately realized, for he did not know when fortune would next smile upon him. True, he was not as prepared to begin his quest as he would have liked, but there was no telling when the time would come when such an opportunity would be made available to him. He had to set out now, or risk the chance of never beginning the quest.

Hastily, he pulled aside his bedroll, dirty and matted with dried blood, and dug around for a moment in the loosely packed soil until he pulled out a cloak of green and a worn brown leather pouch that contained his store of provisions for the road ahead of him. Putting them to one side, he dug around in a second area for his wineskin, now filled with water, and a crude orcish dagger that he filched from a supply room days before. This he hid in his boot and he noted how good it felt to once again have a blade upon his body. He felt safer now, protected from those creatures who had too often tortured the free folk of Middle Earth.

He slipped on the cloak also, drawing the hood over his head. It was the cloak that the elves of Lothlorien had bestowed upon him whilst he had traveled with the Fellowship. Legolas smiled to himself as he recalled the words of the Lord and Lady of that fair wood and how they had offered their hopes that the elven spun material would shield the wearers from unfriendly eyes. For the fulfillment of these words, Legolas sent his silent plea to the Valar, for if ever he needed to walk as one that is invisible, it would be now, the first and possibly most crucial step of his journey.

All around him, the other elves lay in sleep, unaware of his preparations. It was better this way, he reasoned to himself, for once his absence became noticed, the orcs would torment anyone that they suspected of knowing even the slightest morsel of information. This way, with Legolas slipping off unannounced, he could not only spare the others, but also protect his own mission.

Now he exited the tent, keeping silent and in the deepest shadows that he could find. It was true that orcs could see well in the dark, but even the keenest eyed among them would have had trouble spotting the prince in the blackest shadows of the evil night. But then there was the problem of the gate, which was always lighted by large fires for both light and warmth. Here Legolas could not hope to slink by unnoticed in the shadows. However lightly guarded, it would be most difficult to pass through the gates unmarked. He would need to find some way to pass amongst the orcs without being seen.

Legolas stood alone in the shadows, mulling the situation over in his mind. He had thought about the very same problem for many a night, and now his heart beat with the urgency of his quest. He had to find some way out of the compound and could risk no margin for error. Above him, on the wall, he could hear the booted feet of the archers as they paced back and forth on guard. He scanned the compound itself. The fight between the servants of the enemy was not yet subsided, a fact Legolas was silently thankful for. Then it was, perhaps for the second time that night that luck smiled upon him.

A cart bearing away the dead stopped by one of the makeshift tents. Two stout orcs jumped down from the driver's bench and went into the tent, ready to add whatever elves had perished to the load that they had collected thus far that evening. There were not many bodies in the cart, perhaps maybe a dozen or so, and once Legolas was sure that the orcs were gone and the cart unwatched, he climbed up into the back. With a deep breath to steady himself, Legolas picked his way into the center of the mound of flesh, entwining his limbs with those of the dead, and he lay as still as he could, making his breathing shallow.

A tense minute or two passed and the orcs reemerged from the tent, bearing the broken body of a small elf child. The boy was not even half grown and Legolas' heart filled with rage, disgust, and sadness. But he restrained himself from making any motion and the body of the elfling was thrown onto the top of the pile. The orcs climbed back into the front of the cart and took the reins. Two nearly skeletal ponies whinnied and took off at as fast a trot they could muster, heading ever in the direction of the gate.

"Halt there!" called one of the guards as the wagon came close to the gate. "What is your business?"

"Dumping the worm fodder," replied the orc with the reins in his gnarled heads.

"Orders are to check everything that passes," said the guard, and Legolas guessed that the driver of the cart must have been new to the camp.

The driver made no reply and the two guards approached either side of the wagon and surveyed the pile of lifeless bodies. Then they unsheathed their swords and plunged them into the heap, stabbing here and there with force meant to ferret out any living soul that might stowaway. A few times the swords made contact with Legolas' skin, but he was buried far enough under the other bodies that the thrusts did little hurt to him.

"What's this? Blood?" asked the shorter guard and Legolas felt the first twinge of panic rising within him.

"Leave off!" the orc driver said, sounding annoyed. "One of the scum is dead less than half an hour. Blood is to be expected."

Whether or not the guard was satisfied, Legolas could not tell and the time seemed to freeze to a standstill while the two creatures eyed one another. Then, mercifully, the elf felt the cart move once more, through the gateway and out into the wilderness.

Long moments passed; Legolas could not rightly keep track of how long it had been. Less than an hour, perhaps, came to pass when suddenly the horses were halted. The orcs jumped from the cart and opened a latch, pushing the dead from the cart and into a pit filled with half rotten corpses. Legolas lay as he had fallen and in the darkness the enemy thought him for dead. The back of the wagon was closed once more and the orcs drove the horses back towards the camp. Still, Legolas did not move until he was positive that the creatures were too far to catch him. Then he carefully climbed out from the shallow pit, checked to ensure that the ring was still with him, and slipped into the shadows of dead trees. Reaching one ringed by high brown weeds, for the first time in his long life, Legolas got sick. When he was able to compose himself, Legolas took in his surroundings.

As far as he could tell, he was somewhat north and east of the prison camp, meaning that the orcs had unwittingly born him closer to his destination of Mordor. He decided to continue in the same direction and traveled several miles before stopping for the night. So far, he thought to himself, the path had been easy enough. Though the terrain was rocky and desolate, his light feet had born him faster than he could have hoped for, despite the wounds of his body and the unrelenting fatigue that had always gnawed at him while in the camp. But finally he could go no further and the break of the bleak day was not far off. He hid himself in a patch of thorny dried bushes and passed the first day of his freedom.


	4. Chapter Four

Legolas awoke just a few hours before the ghostly brown sunlight faded into the blackness of night. He ate a meager portion of his provisions, just barely enough to keep him on his feet. But his time behind the prison camp walls had perhaps benefited him in some small way, for he was used to eating little and working hard. On the journey that now faced him, he would have to rely on everything he had ever learned. Still, his stomach made the slightest of complaints as he repacked his things and made ready to depart from his hiding place. Under normal circumstances, he would have spent a few days in that place to gather his strength and heal from his wounds, but with little food and exposure to the enemy, he had no choice but to press on.

It did not take long before the sun dropped below the horizon and the land was covered in a swift darkness. Then Legolas set out, creeping slowly through the bushes that had been his cover and back out into the open air. Immediately he felt exposed, but there was little that he could do, for the land offered few places to conceal himself. Where once there had been groves of trees and tall grasses, now there was a barren wasteland, half burnt tree stumps the only reminders of what the land had once looked like. Legolas would have to brave the open terrain.

Looking around, he strained his senses, trying to see whether or not any orcs were nearby. He could find nothing and so he began a northward path, running in swift, long strides. He supposed that he should not exert his energy so rashly, not when he needed to conserve it for the final leg, once he reached Mordor. Then too, the wound on his inner thigh ached terribly, but for now, the overwhelming sense of freedom urged him on and lightened his heart, and he found it hard to think too much on the road ahead. So he gladly let his feet speed him northwards, hoping to cover an even greater distance than the previous night.

He stopped only twice that night, to take frugal sips of water from his wineskin, and these were only enough to moisten his dry throat. He did not know when he would next find water and so conserved as much of his supply as he could. The ring he hung about his neck on a course old piece of rope that had once bound the hands of one of the elven corpses that he had found in the pit the previous night. It felt strangely heavy to him as it thumped into his breast with each step, and he found it hard to imagine what a burden it must have been for the hobbit Frodo. Still, he pushed all such thoughts as far from his mind as he could. His main focus had to be on the path ahead and his senses needed to be on constant alert for danger.

The hours flew by quickly and soon Legolas could see the sky beginning to lighten in the east. The pale dawn was coming and he suddenly found himself wondering where he was to camp for the coming day. He halted his running and took in his surroundings, surveying the land for any place that could offer protection. Suddenly, his eyes lit upon a group of trees not far off to the west. They were not yet fully dead, though the leaves were no longer a vibrant green but a dull brown, like much of the land. Still, he found the sight of living trees to be a sign of hope and made his way to them, thanking the Valar silently. Once he reached them, he scrambled up into the boughs gratefully and climbed as far up as he dared, hiding himself in the thickest patch of leaves that he could find. Then he rested his back against the strong, rough bark and closed his eyes, focusing his thought on the living being that was his shelter. He could hear the tree's breathing, though it was faint and shallow and Legolas knew that life was slowly ebbing away from it. With callused hands he stroked the thick center stem, speaking to it in elvish, his voice just above a whisper. The tree seemed to react, becoming more relaxed and drawing slightly deeper breaths. Not long after, the fatigue of the day's journey settled upon Legolas, and he happily let the world of sleep take him.

He awoke midday with a sudden jolt. The sounds of marching orcs came to his ears and Legolas could feel himself tense. They were making right for the trees where he was taking his refuge. His heart beat fast, terror gripping it. His hand strayed down to his boot and drew the crooked dagger that he carried with him while the other gripped at his shirt, ensuring that the ring was hidden from view. Now the orcs came closer and Legolas ventured a look at them through the half dead leaves of the dying tree. There were not many of them, no more than half a dozen, and they led a group of chained dwarves between their loose ranks.

Anger welled up within Legolas as he looked down upon the bowed heads of the dwarves as they passed beneath the tree. He needed to do something about the situation. To see any of the free folk bound as prisoners of the enemy was too much for him. As the last orc passed beneath his perch, he silently leapt down and landed behind the orc. Legolas raised his dagger and neatly used it to slash the creature's throat. In a similar manner, he disposed of the other two orcs that traveled at the rear of the formation. One of the three lead orcs, sensing suddenly that something was amiss, chanced a glance backwards and gave a roar as he took in the sight of the elf. Immediately the chains used to keep the dwarves in tow were dropped and swords were unsheathed. Legolas held his own blade tightly and shifted his stance, ready for the battle. The drawing of the first orc's blood had reawakened a battle lust within the prince's heart, and now he welcomed the chance to slay as many of Sauron's servants as he could.

Without warning, one of the orcs leapt forward, striking out with his sword and just barely missed hitting the elf. But Legolas was aware of the creature's intentions, and avoided the blow, striking out with his dagger in the same moment. The blade slashed the orc's midsection but was not enough to kill him. Now the other two orcs were upon Legolas and he had a few narrow escapes as he avoided the steel of their swords. His dagger found a resting place in the center of one's throat, severing the windpipe. As that orc fell, taking the dagger with it, Legolas grabbed at the sword that it let fall and used it to strike at the remaining orcs. The one that he had wounded earlier had regained its footing and had joined its companion in facing Legolas. The elf was trapped between the two creatures and having trouble avoiding the blows, due mostly to months of sitting idle in the prison camp and hunger that gnawed at him always, making him weaker than he wanted to admit.

Still, he managed to parry each blow and make a few moves of his own, slicing the air with the orc sword that he now wielded. The orc that he had wounded earlier he managed to wound once more, as the blade of his sword ripped across the orc's face, destroying the creature's left eye. The other orc rushed at Legolas, but the prince was quick enough to duck just before the impact and the orc flew harmlessly over him. Quickly it tried to stand, but Legolas still retained his elvish reflexes and was on the orc before it could get up. Legolas raised his blade and plunged it deep into the orc's heart. Pulling out the sword once more, he turned to smite the last orc, but the creature already lay dead from its wounds, a puddle of dark blood staining the ground with a ghastly black.

Now he looked at the chained dwarves, who remained huddled together, not daring to cheer at the destruction of the enemy. They looked frightened instead, not knowing what fate held in store for them, for now they were at the mercy of an elf. Surly this elf, who had so efficiently killed the orcs, would not hesitate to slay them as well. Then, suddenly, one of them cried out.

"Legolas!"

The prince's head immediately snapped up from its current job of finding the key to the dwarves' shackles. He scanned the group of dwarves, looking for the owner of the voice, for it seemed to him impossible to have heard it in the first place. Then his eyes lit up as he looked upon the familiar face that he had longed so long to see once more.

"Gimli! My friend!"


	5. Chapter Five

A smile flashed across Legolas' face as the realization hit him that his friend was indeed still living. He was not the last of the Nine Walkers to draw breath, as he had so often feared. Perhaps there was yet hope for Middle Earth, for the Fellowship could still have a chance at completing its task. But now he looked at the orcs with renewed interest, still searching for the keys. These he found on a think metal ring hanging from the belt of the orc whose heart Legolas had pierced. Dull silver keys hung from the ring, too many to count at a glance.

"Gather around me," Legolas commanded the dwarves, as he eyed the keys and the shackles binding the Naugrim together.

Obediently, the group of dwarves came forward and Legolas dropped to his knees before them. Gimli was the closest to him and he began fitting the keys into the lock that held ankle shackles firmly clasped shut. Luck, perhaps, was with him in his task, for on the third attempt he found the proper key, smiling as it slid into the hole and he heard the satisfying click as the lock sprang open. Quickly he removed Gimli's shackles and did the same for the others.

Still, the dwarves had their hands bound and the key that had worked for the ankle shackles would not work for this second set of locks. He stood now and began to test each key on the ring anew. He worked without a word, though each key he tried failed to have any effect. He made his way through half of the keys. Some, it was true, fit into the lock, but these he could not get to turn and release the lock. Others were too big or the wrong shape, but if the elf was feeling frustrated, he did not show it. He simply forged ahead, trying the next key and the next key, until at last he came to the fifth key from the end. This he fitted into the lock and, holding his breath, attempted to turn it. He felt no resistance and after a second heard the lock release, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Gimli, once again, was the first dwarf that he freed and once he was free, the dwarf hugged the elf tightly.

"Take the key and free the others," Legolas instructed him as he handed over the keys, keeping the one that was needed separate from the others. "There is something I must see to."

"Aye," came the reply as the dwarf happily accepted the proffered keys and, receiving it, turned to free the others.

As soon as the key left his hand, Legolas turned to the bodies of the orcs that lay strewn about on the ground. Grabbing them up by their tunics, he began to arrange them carefully, taking their weapons from them once they were positioned to his liking. Then he took the weapons and dipped them into the gouts of blood that stained the dead grass and placed them in the orc's hands or close by on the ground. One of the swords he took and replaced within the body of the orc he had stabbed, wrapping one of the dead hands loosely around the hilt.

"Legolas?" asked Gimli, approaching the elf now that his task was complete and the other dwarves freed. "What are you doing?"

"Creating a battle scene," he replied mysteriously. "You and the others should leave this place as fast as you can."

Gimli shook his head. "I do not see you in how many months and you think that you will be rid of me so easily? I should be insulted if I did not know you better. Come, tell me what is on your mind."

"I cannot Gimli. Not this time."

"Surly I can help you. Do you no longer trust me as you once did?"

"It is not that," Legolas replied, motioning with his eyes at the other dwarves. The motion was slight and only Gimli noticed it. "What is important now is that these people make it to safety. We have not much time. This road bears many footprints. I fear that it may be a highway of sorts that the orcs use to travel by in this land. We do not know how long it might be before others arrive here. Besides, I have an errand that will not wait," he added lowly so that only Gimli could hear.

The other dwarves had paled at the thought of other orcs coming to find them and it broke Legolas' heart to see the once proud Mountain Folk so broken. The once fiery eyes were empty and distant, much the opposite of what Legolas knew they should be.

"There is a place that I know where you will be safe," Legolas said, directing his voice at the dwarves. "Travel northwest for two, maybe three days until you come across the remains of waterfall. It is damned up now but there is a shelter there that you can use. Look for the largest stone upon the ground. Underneath there is a tunnel and a sanctuary, though I cannot say what supplies you might find there. But take caution not to travel as a group. Separate yourselves into small groups, perhaps only two or three of you together and take care not to make your trail too obvious. That way you have better hope of making it across the land. Go now and may the Valar protect you."

He raised his hand and saluted the dwarves in elven fashion and the group bowed to him, their bedraggled beards sweeping the ground as they uttered their thanks. Only one remained behind, his feet planted firmly apart with a look of defiance on his face.

"Will you not follow your kin?" Legolas asked.

"Nay," replied the dwarf. "You sent them to a long abandoned rebel shelter."

"I am sorry for that," Legolas said, his voice soft. "I do not know how much the enemy has been able to corrupt them. I could not risk sending them someplace where our allies still exist in secret. I could not put the last defense of Middle Earth in jeopardy."

"They are not corrupt! They are my kinsman!" came the reply.

"I know that Gimli, but there is more at stake then you know."

"I would know, if you would only tell me."

Legolas shook his head. "Not here. Not in this place. First we must find someplace safer."

As he spoke, he picked up one of the orc swords that still remained with one of the bodies and carefully, he eased the sheath from its owner. This he slung onto his back and hid beneath the cloak of Lothlorien. Gimli too, relieved one of the orcs of his weapon, and this was a small hatchet that Gimli hung carefully on his belt beneath a tattered brown traveling cloak. It was not quite an axe, at least not like that which Gimli was used to wielding in a battle, but it would be far more comfortable for him to use that instead of a sword.

"Where are we headed?" Gimli asked as he readjusted his cloak.

"East," Legolas replied as he turned in that direction.

"East?" Gimli repeated.

"We must head to Mordor."

Gimli felt his heart sink as Legolas uttered those words. _We must head to Mordor_. What in Arda could Legolas want in Mordor? Perhaps the servants of Sauron had succeeded in corrupting the elf? But then, he had saved Gimli's life and had told the other dwarves where to go to escape enemy eyes. Surly if he was under the control of the Enemy, he would not have had done so. But then again, perhaps it was only a ploy to gain their trust?

_No,_ Gimli thought to himself. _This is Legolas! No foul creature would be able to corrupt him. Gimli, you fool, you looked into his eyes. Did you see any malice within him? Nay, he is still the same elf who befriended you so long ago when hope was left in the world._

"Mordor, eh?" Gimli said to Legolas casually, as if the two had merely been planning where to take a holiday.

Legolas only nodded. "There is a reason for such apparent madness, I assure you. But I cannot speak on it yet. I feel orcs close by!"

"How close?"

Legolas did not answer right away but scanned the area with his elven eyes. "Several leagues. They are heading west and are to the south of us. But come, let us not tarry here, lest we be caught for our folly."

Gimli did not answer but grunted and began a steady pace, following the elf who jogged ahead of him, picking a trail for them to travel by. Surly to head to the East was suicide, but he had faith in Legolas. If the elf said that east was where they needed to go, then the dwarf would follow him.

Ahead of Gimli, Legolas kept up his long, swift strides, keeping alert for anything that moved. So far, he had been lucky, for not a living thing was to be seen. Except for the orcs he had slain, there had been no other encounters. No further orcs, not birds, nothing. Still, Legolas did not want to allow himself to fall into any sort of false sense of security. Despite the apparent desolation of the area, it was still enemy land that he traveled across, and until the ring was destroyed, all of Middle Earth would remain that way.


	6. Chapter Six

All throughout the afternoon and night the two companions traveled together, taking only such short breaks as to regain a little strength for the next march. And when they did stop, Legolas seemed unable to remain still, but nervously paced to and fro until Gimli was ready to begin the trek anew. For his part, the dwarf could understand part of the elf's anxiety, for he too felt uncomfortable sneaking through lands held by the enemy. But still, the more he pondered their route and destination, the less sense he could make of it. To head to Mordor meant certain death, for the Dark Lord still remained powerful despite the fact that he had once again lost the ring. If anything, he was more powerful than before, for though he had suffered a second defeat, the brief reunion with the ring had restored much of his lost power. Now they were headed directly to his stronghold.

"We will wait out the coming day here," Legolas said, bringing the dwarf out of his thoughts.

Gimli jumped slightly, for he had been so busy with his own thoughts, that he had not noticed that the elf had stopped his march and come up alongside of him. "About time," Gimli countered playfully. "We dwarves may be hearty folk, but to run for half a day and a night after coming fresh from orcish cruelty would cause even best among us to need rest."

The camp that evening was set in a small shallow cave made by the ruins of what had once been the sister port across from Osgiliath. Despite the fact that Legolas had said that their path would take them east, he had struck out a more northward road, following the banks of the Anduin. Here at least, water could be found, though it was dirty from orc filth. Still, it was drinkable, and Legolas had refilled both his and Gimli's waterskins. Then they ate a small bit of Legolas' provisions, but though the air held a slight chill despite the lingering heat of the darkness of Mordor, they did not dare light a fire.

"Tell me, friend, news of yourself. Long it has been since we last met. I had feared you were dead," Legolas asked once their meal had been eaten.

"I was wounded in the last battle," Gimli replied, "and was taken by orcs. They enslaved as many of the dwarves as they could find still alive that day and we were forced into work building forges for the Enemy. I was stationed in one making weapons for the orcs, every day cursing the fact that my hands were forging the very same blades that were taking the lives of the free folk. But I could not dare to do otherwise, though at times I wondered if it might be better to die than to have so much blood on my hands. Perhaps there was some hope within me. I do not rightly know."

"Where were the orcs taking you and the others?" Legolas asked.

"I am not certain. Some of us thought perhaps that we were being moved to a different orc settlement. Others thought perhaps that we were being brought to some other task. It is rumored that dwarves labor away in Mordor to mine for ore. Some believe that the Enemy wishes for those dwarves to forge a new ring of power. As for myself, I do not believe it."

"I think perhaps you are right, Gimli. I do not think that another master ring can be made. Sauron himself cast the one ring for the ruling ring remains loyal only to the hand that created it. To have another forged by hands other than Sauron's would be sheer folly, for it would find a way to ultimately ruin him."

Here Legolas fell into thought for a while and a silence stretched between the two friends. Finally, the silence was too much for Gimli to bear.

"Now will you tell me what madness it is that drives us to Mordor?" Gimli finally asked. "You have said that you would explain why we are headed towards the Enemy once we were camped in a safe place."

Legolas laughed a little. "You speak truthfully."

"Now then, tell me what madness it is that guides you towards certain death, you crazy elf," said Gimli, impatient to have his question answered.

"The madness of hope," Legolas replied. "I must walk head first into the darkest night in order to bring about the dawn."

"Speak plainly!" Gimli asked, not quite following what it was that Legolas meant by his words.

"Do you remember that day, that final battle before the black gates?" Legolas asked after a momentary hesitation.

"How could I forget? For as long as I shall live I will not forget that day. Never will I be able to shake the image of the Dark Lord coming forth from his fortress. But what does that have to do with our current course?"

"I was with Aragorn that day," Legolas began. "I was not close enough to save him, Gimli. I could not battle my way through Sauron's hordes to stop the Enemy from striking him down. But I was close enough to see everything that transpired. Gimli, on that very day, the ring vanished."

"This we all know," Gimli said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He had not spent all day in suspense to be told news that he was already aware of.

"Aye, that is true. But there is a part of the tale that none know, save for me. I know what happened to the ring of power."

"And?"

Legolas did not answer, but instead slipped the ring off of his neck and pressed it into the dwarf's right hand. It was far too dark for Gimli to see, that Legolas knew, for the darkness that spread from Mordor challenged even the keen eyes of the elf.

"It cannot be!" Gimli exclaimed. "This must be some form of joke!"

"I assure you, my friend, that I do not jest with you," Legolas said as he replaced the ring to hang from his neck once more. "In the confusion of the battle, I alone saw the fate of the ring and claimed it for my own responsibility, for is that not why the Fellowship was formed? To ensure the success of the Quest, despite the fate of the ringbearer? So I took the ring and kept it hidden. But as of late, it plays more on my mind and the urgency to destroy it has become ever the more dire."

Gimli nodded his understanding, wondering briefly if the elf could see his movement. "Where was it kept all this time?" he simply asked.

"I was taken to a prison camp with other elves not long after our last defeat. It was perhaps that my identity was unknown to the orcs who ran the camp, for they did not slay me but were content to try and turn me into one of them. The ring ever remained right under the Enemy's nose, but none had the wits to discover it. It was only until now that I was able to get a chance to break free and begin the Quest anew."

"Madness indeed I called your plans," laughed Gimli. "Now I take back my words! For not even I would not say that bravery and unselfish acts are mad. I take it that our journey begins at sundown tomorrow."

"Gimli, I do not ask you to come with me. Indeed I would not blame you if you did not want to follow. My actions may yet prove to be mad, for the road ahead is full of peril."

"Am I not one of the Nine Walkers? Did I not swear the same oath as you to keep true to our objective to see the ring destroyed at any cost? Nay, I am coming with you, whether you would ask it of me or not," here Gimli sounded the least bit indignant. "Besides," he added in a softer tone, "I cannot leave you to face the perils of the road ahead alone. Even more sacred than our oath under the Fellowship is the oath of friendship."

"Thank you," Legolas whispered, a small smile on his face, though he knew the dwarf could not see it.


	7. Chapter Seven

Not long after sleep took hold of Legolas and Gimli, the pale dawn broke. The sun rose into the sky, trying with all her might to shine her rays upon the land, but the reek and darkness of Sauron, as always, proved to be the stronger. At the sunset hour, Legolas awoke and cautiously peeked out from the rubble, standing outside once he was sure that no spies were nearby. He stretched his legs, wincing slightly as he stretched the taut skin around his healing leg wound. He faced the river as he worked a knot out of one of his shoulder muscles. Across the way he could see Osgiliath, the remains of which stood at odd angles here and there in the distance. Not a single building had been left standing and short stone pillars which had once been walls and doorways stood like graves to mark the lives of the Gondorians who had perished there. Focusing hard on the distance behind that, Legolas could imagine that he could see the pale silhouette of Minas Tirith, and a tear sprung unbidden into his eye. Once more the image of Aragorn came to his mind and once more the ache at losing such a close friend tore at his heart. Quickly, he wiped the tear away and crawled back into the rubble to where Gimli still slept.

"Gimli," he whispered as he shook his friend. "The sun makes her descent. We must move soon."

"Alright," Gimli answered as he yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

They ate little more than they had at the previous meal and as soon as the darkness began to deepen, they abandoned the port and made their way along the river. They had only one close call that night. Just as the moon would have been reaching its zenith, Legolas caught the sounds of iron shod feet coming in their direction. Glancing around, he could find no shelter. Still, he did not wish to match blades with the nearing enemies, for he could tell that their number was too great for himself and Gimli to face in the dark. Instead, he groped around in the darkness until at last he came upon what he sought.

"Here," he whispered to Gimli. "Stick this in your mouth and breathe through it."

"What?" asked the dwarf as something small and slender was pushed into his hand.

"I have not time to explain. Orcs are close. Follow me."

With that, Legolas slipped as silently into the river as he could, moving steadily towards the deeper water until at last he was submerged and taking shallow breaths through one of the hollow reeds he had taken from the river bank. Gimli followed suit, finally understanding what the elf wanted him to do.

He expected to stay in that place for several long moments until the orcs had passed. And yet, after a moment or two, he could feel the elf move forward with measured steps meant to keep the surface of the water as calm as possible and he did his best to follow Legolas' lead. Minutes passed slowly by until an hour or more had been spent. Then Legolas stopped his march and tapped Gimli's shoulder to signify that they would be heading back towards the shore. Sighing to himself in gladness, Gimli began to step forward but Legolas put a hand to the dwarf's chest, stopping him. Without another sign, Gimli understood. Legolas would go first to ensure that no other orcs were nearby.

Ahead of Gimli, Legolas took hesitant steps towards the river bank, trying to strain his senses as far as he could. Tentatively, he poked his fair head above the surface, listening to the night sounds. The only sound to reach his ears was the gentle lapping of the Anduin. He reached under the surface with one hand, feeling for Gimli, and his fingers brushed the top of the dwarf's head before he began to make his way out of the water. Behind him came Gimli, huffing as he took in deep breaths of air.

"What in the name of Iluvatar?" he demanded, his voice a hissing whisper.

"I am sorry, Gimli," replied Legolas as he wrung water out of his hair and clothing. "There was a large group of orcs headed in our direction. I could not risk our being seen."

"Could we not have stayed rooted in one spot? Surely the orcs would have passed us by eventually. All that underwater walking has tired my legs somewhat."

"My apologies once more, my friend," Legolas whispered back. "I deemed it a necessity to keep moving. Our errand is far too great for us to waste any time."

"Aye," was all that Gimli answered.

"If you like, we shall rest here for a short while if you need to gather your strength."

"Nay. I can continue on a little further before I need to take a rest."

Now the two took to the land once more, moving as swiftly and secretively as they could manage, heading ever northwards through Ithilien. They met with no other foes at night, much to Gimli's delight, for he did not wish to make a return to walking the bottom of Anduin the Great. They made only one brief stop all the rest of the night, for here there was no place to hide from enemy eyes.

Their situation did not much improve as the dawn came nearer. Only dead grasses and withered trees stood in the marred land, and Legolas began to worry that they would be exposed once the day broke. This very nearly came to pass but for a stroke of strange fortune. Legolas had resigned himself to the fact that he and Gimli's only option was to lay low in one of the patches of tall brown grasses and hope that it would be thick enough to conceal them from any who happened by. One such patch grew before the foot of a cliff, the top of which stood no taller than the utmost edge of an oliphant's head. He made the mental decision to hide for the day in that place, for there at least they would be protected on one side. Then too, there was a section of rock above them that jutted out for two or three feet, making a sort of makeshift cave. If any of the enemy were above them and happened to look down, all that they would see would be stone and dirt. The elf and dwarf would remain hidden.

Because the dawn had already broken, Legolas forfeited his ration of food. Instead, he moved to the deepest section of the outcropping of rock and slept. Gimli would have followed suit if his stomach had not demanded that he take a little food first. As he ate his meager meal, he looked towards where Legolas slept, getting the first true look at his friend that he had had the opportunity to take. Except for the brief face to face talk he had had with the elf when Legolas had rescued the dwarves, they had traveled in darkness and slept through the only pale light available to them. Now, he took his opportunity.

He was greatly saddened by what it was that he saw. Legolas' skin was pale, more so than was healthy for an elf and it seemed stretched over his deathly thin frame. His once fair and merry face now only told the story of suffering and despair. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes were rimmed by dark rings, shrunken into his head. Gimli gazed at Legolas' open eyes. They looked remote, for the elf was deep into the land of sleep and dreams. And yet, Gimli could not help noticing how clouded those blue orbs appeared. The familiar spark of life that had always been present, even in sleep, was gone. Now they seemed to be dull and sorrowful, though there was a barely noticeable gleam of determination set in them.

The golden hair of his head, though long, was cut at odd angles, ripped and cut by cruel orc hands. Gimli's eyes moved to inspect the rest of the elf's body. It was true that elves' bodies were lithe by nature, but here Gimli only read the story of starvation and torture. Legolas had removed his cloak and tunic before he had slept, putting them off to one side so that they could dry off completely from the river walk that had soaked them during the night. Now Gimli could see the lines of suffering that covered Legolas' fragile frame.

The once fair flesh was now scarred almost beyond the point of recognition as elven. Long lines – the reminders of whip lashes – covered his body in a complex spidery weave. Some of them looked quite fresh to Gimli's eyes, causing him to stop a moment. Surly even if Legolas was tortured right before his escape from the camp, his wounds would have faded and healed already. This puzzled the dwarf as he looked at the wounds. Puckered scars of older wounds covered all of the areas where the new wounds were not. Some were long – whip lashes – while others looked more as if chunks of flesh had been ripped away from his body. Gimli gazed at the scars for a long moment and suddenly, he knew why his friend had failed to heal. His torture would have been daily and Gimli shuddered to imagine for how long that had been. Legolas' wounds, combined with hard labor and little food, would have made his body far too weak for his natural elven healing to have any effect.

Gimli felt his heart break for the elf that he proudly called his best friend. Tears welled up in his eyes and he allowed them to fall until, finally exhausted, he fell into the blissful oblivion of sleep. When Legolas lightly shook his shoulder to awaken him, hours later, it seemed to Gimli to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: There will be a slight translation in this chapter. The translation will be at the very end of the chapter. I will designate any further translations in this particular story in a similar fashion. Now, on with the chapter!

LOTR...LOTR… LOTR...LOTR… LOTR...LOTR… LOTR...LOTR…

The next few days passed in a similar manner for the elf and the dwarf. All night they would travel across the land with as much speed and caution as they could muster. Always they traveled in the direction of Mordor and the dread of the path beyond the walls of the encircling mountains grew ever the more frightening in their minds, though neither of them would admit it to the other. Each day they would rest, using whatever shelter that they could find that would offer them any sort of protection from the eyes of Sauron's allies. There they would share meals that grew ever more meager by the day and sleep to regain whatever strength that they could. Though Legolas said nothing, he felt each passing day bring a greater weight to the ring that hung about his neck. The ring knew that it was approaching Mordor and that within the tower, its master would be awaiting it. It was becoming more and more of a burden for Legolas to carry, and he thought back often to Frodo. What must have the burden been like for the little halfling? Still, there was one good thing that Legolas was thankful for, and that was that he had Gimli at his side throughout the ordeal. So far, though they spoke little out of fear, the dwarf's company, paired with Legolas' pure elven spirit, had greatly helped in keeping the elf's mind off of the ring. If it was trying to corrupt him at all, it had barely gotten a foothold in his mind.

"We are drawing close to the Black Gate now," Legolas said one early morning after he and Gimli had chosen a place to wait out the day. "I should say that we could reach the Black Gate this very evening if we wished."

"Do we dare risk the front entrance to that land?" Gimli asked. "I think that would be suicide."

"I have been thinking much about that myself, friend. I think the gate is our best hope."

"How can that be? Surely we will be caught!"

Legolas shook his head in the slowing lightening morning. "I know of no other way into that land. I do not dare risk the mountains. They are too perilous and our provisions are far too low. We would never make it over, or if we somehow chanced to make it into Mordor by that route, we would not have the energy to finish your journey. We are left with only two choices, to take the passage of Cirith Ungol or to risk the gate." He shook his head sadly. "I think, of the two, Cirith Ungol will be the most treacherous. Faramir told us that Frodo and Sam had headed that way when he came across them in Ithilien and they were captured. My guess is that the enemy will have posted a heavy guard there in case another ringbearer decides to sneak into Mordor. I do not think that he fears the penetration of his lands by way of the front door."

"You mean to walk right under his nose? But how?"

"By playing that part that the enemy wishes me to play. But you, my friend, I will have to ask you to trust me completely. When we approach the gate, you must be subservient to me and must let me do all of the talking."

"What are you getting at?"

"You will see. But look now, the sun has already risen. We must rest, for I fear that this night shall be the most dangerous we have yet faced."

Gimli started to argue, to try and wrestle from the elf just what exactly he had meant by needing Gimli to be subservient to him. But then he thought the better of it. It Legolas wished Gimli to know of his plan, then he would not have held back any of the details. He would have spoken plainly of his plan. It was true that since they had found one another again, Legolas was acting ever the more secretive and withdrawn, but Gimli supposed that he could overlook and forgive the elf's behavior. He could not guess as to what a burden the ring was proving to be, nor could he imagine how terrifying being the ringbearer was. So he said nothing and stretched out on the ground and allowed himself to sleep.

The two awoke just before the final rays of sunlight faded. They ate swiftly and took to the road once more. Legolas was determined to make it into Mordor before dawn; that Gimli could tell by the swiftness of his friend's pace. All through the night they traveled and although dawn approached, they noticed that the further east they traveled, the darker it became. The reek of Mordor made thick black clouds that hung in the air and prevented the sunlight from breaking through. Ahead of them, the gate loomed ever closer.

They approached the gate openly now, allowing the orcs who stood guard to see them freely. The orcs immediately stood erect, straightening up from their slouched positions as they leaned against their long spears. They made a sign for Legolas and Gimli to halt. Both stopped in their tracks, just a few feet from where the orcs stood.

"Who are you and what is your business in Mordor?" asked the one with the scar across his right cheek.

"I am a messenger," Legolas replied. "I was traveling with a group of a half dozen others, escorting a group of dwarves to their new stations."

"I see no others," replied the other orc whose skin looked as if it had been burnt in a fire.

"Indeed," Legolas replied. "Several days ago, a fight broke out among the lieutenants. One of the dwarves had managed to get free. Each blamed the other for their lack of vigilance. Swords were drawn. I am the only one who lives from that regiment."

"And the dwarves?"

"Escaped," Legolas said, with a shade of embarrassment and remorse tainting his words. "They scattered and fled. I was only able to recapture this one that you see here before you."

"Where are his chains?" asked the first orc, doubtfully.

"They were left too far behind before I was able to recapture this one. I did not wish to risk going back, but thought it best to bring him straight here. I knew that if he tried to escape, I could easily overtake him once more. The first time, I was merely caught off guard because of the fight."

The orcs peered at Gimli, who did his best to look positively worn down and broken in will. He starred fixedly at the ground, not daring to lift his eyes out of fear that Legolas' ruse would be discovered. Legolas, however, held his gaze proudly, even a little defiantly, looking the orcs in the eyes.

"What do you say, Oxtongue?" asked the burnt looking guard.

The other looked momentarily uncertain. "Where did you say you were traveling from?"

"I had been stationed in one of the camps near the border of what was once Rohan," he lied. "My name is Raikaquena."

The first orc stared at Legolas for a long moment. It was clear to Gimli that the orc perhaps suspected that something was amiss. After all, Legolas was a far cry from looking like one of Sauron's servants. Despite the story of abuse that was written over the elf's body and the obvious lack of nourishment that he suffered from, Legolas had not been tortured or mutilated enough to look like an orc. The same thought had passed through Legolas' mind as well and inwardly, he felt the cold fingers of fear squeezing around his heart. He no more looked like an orc than a troll looked like a man. It was very possible that the guards would not believe his story. He had to do something to prove himself, and soon.

"Let me pass," he demanded, as a thought crossed his mind. "I have to get this scum to his new position. I do not wish to have one of the eight breathing down my neck for an unsatisfactory job. I will let them know that two bumbling guards at the gate found it necessary to hold up my task."

The scarred orc, Oxtongue, flinched a little at the threat. It was apparent to Legolas that the creature had been chastised by the Nazgul before. There was too much fear that he saw in the orc's eyes. Oxtongue shifted uncomfortably.

"Go on then," he said at length. "Take the filth to the furnaces. All new labor goes there first."

Legolas nodded in understanding and roughly pushed Gimli. "You heard him! Get moving or else I will turn you into worm fodder."

Gimli nodded weakly, his head still cast downwards. He did not even attempt to make a verbal acknowledgement to Legolas' orders. He moved forward, shuffling his feet in the dust, his feet aching from the night's journey. He hoped that once inside, Legolas could find a place for them to rest. But now he said nothing, he only marched forward like a beaten slave. Behind him, Legolas continued his orders, calling the dwarf by every conceivable degrading term that he could muster to mind. Slowly, the two penetrated their way into Mordor, leaving the two unwitting guards to keep watch, should any intruders approach the gate.

LOTR...LOTR...LOTR...LOTR...LOTR...LOTR...

_Raika – false, Quena - speech_


	9. Chapter Nine

Once the guards had been left far enough behind, Legolas began to take in his surroundings. Mordor was not quite what the elf expected. He had thought perhaps that that land would be barren, a long stretch of wasteland from the gates to Mount Doom. But the sight that greeted him was so very different. Although the land was essentially a wasteland, unfit for proper life, there was much sign of life and activity. Everywhere, orcs and other foul creatures moved to and from their various tasks. Forges and furnaces stood here and there among the throngs of orcs. Every so often, Legolas could see rows of chained dwarves and men laboring away, feeding the fires or pounding heated metal into the shapes of cruel weapons – weapons that would be turned against them in an instant if ever they failed to please the orc slave masters. Trolls lumbered from one place to another, driven by orcs. Legolas could see the ropes and chains fastened to the trolls as they dragged supplies to where they were needed. In the distance, black smoke rose from the very mountain he was trying to get to.

"Come," Legolas said to Gimli. "Let us press onward."

"I grow weary," the dwarf admitted. "Let us find a place to rest a little, if we may."

Legolas nodded his head, but said nothing. It was unlikely that they would be fortunate enough find shelter where they could rest without fear of discovery. He continued to walk forward, his eyes making silent evaluations about his current situation. He kept Gimli walking ahead of him and did not let the stern, dominant attitude leave his outward appearance. His ruse must have been working well, he realized, for not a single creature hindered his path, though many orcs passed him by going in either direction. For an hour or two, he kept up the pace, and the soles of his feet began to ache dully in protest. He was weary from lack of food and proper rest, and did not know how much longer it would be that he would be able to press on.

At length, the two came to an encampment, the dirty tents dotting the mostly flat ground here and there, leaving the sight looking quite disorderly. Several urak-hai soldiers stood about one of the campfires, talking idly. Legolas pushed Gimli forward. To his left, he saw an elf who looked as if he were in the direct middle of his transformation into an orc. Legolas cringed inwardly. He approached the warriors and spoke.

"Can a weary traveler rest here before continuing his journey?" he asked. "I am to bring this dwarf to his new station, but I must rest before I can go further."

The creatures turned to gaze upon the elf, who did his best to look as cruel and cunning as they did. He was frightfully aware of the need to compensate for his lack of psychical orcish deformities.

"It is not time for resting," replied the leader, whose hand rested on the hilt of the broadsword that hung at his side.

"I know," Legolas replied, "but I have traveled all night with this creature after he escaped from the others in my regiment."

The leader eyed him a moment before making his reply. "Bring the scum to his new station. Then you may rest."

Legolas shook his head. "No," he said defiantly. "I will rest first. Show me where I may stay."

The leader laughed and took a step forward. He must have been one of the slave masters, Legolas realized, for at his side hung a whip and a spiked club. "You forget who you are speaking to," he said threateningly. "Such bold words from one who is not yet fully one of us. Fine, rest if you like. I will take the dwarf to where he is needed."

"No," Legolas said once more. "He is my responsibility. I will take him. I will not risk the wrath of the eight, nor should you," he added with a warning in his voice. "Now, which tent?"

The leader looked at the elf with wonder in his eyes. Surely whichever camp this elf had come from was doing a fine job, for the creature before him seemed to be a true orc, regardless of his outward appearance. He pointed to a series of tents towards the outer ring of the deformed circle of tents. "Take one of them."

Legolas said nothing, but pushed Gimli ahead of him. "Get moving," he ordered the dwarf. "The sooner I rest, the sooner your torment begins."

As they moved off, the leader cracked a satisfied smile. Yes, the prison camps were steadily becoming more effective in their work. If all elves were as easy to break as the one leading the dwarf onwards, it would not take long before all life in Middle Earth would be under Sauron's control.

Legolas and Gimli picked their way through the tents, carefully navigating their path so that they would have the least contact with other orcs as possible. It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing that they were traveling through the camp during the "daylight" hours, for the camp was mostly empty and quiet as the orcs attended to their various tasks. Legolas chose a tent close to the ridge of mountain walls that surrounded Mordor, for the camp was close to them. Here, the tents were utterly deserted and Legolas felt confidant enough to leave Gimli in the tent while he searched the neighboring tents for supplies. He did not have to travel far until he found a supply tent. Silent as a thief, Legolas eased himself inside, slipping between the folds of animal hides and fabric.

There was not much to speak of in the way of food. Piles of half stale bread and dried meats of who knew what animals were all that he found. He looked around for something to carry the food in and found a forsaken cloth bag lying in a corner. It was probably one of the bags that the traveling orcs used to carry food in, Legolas reasoned, and he grabbed it up. With a few quick shakes he cleared the dust from it and then set about his task to fill it as much as he could before he was discovered. Though the bread was somewhat hard, he took a few small loaves, knowing that he had a day or two before they would become completely inedible. What Legolas was most concerned with was the meat, for the provisions that he had carried with him from the Ithilien camp would only last one meager meal more. Their water supply too, was a concern, but Legolas saw no well, no water supply of any kind where he could hope to refill the wineskins.

But now he could risk discovery no longer and he tied the bag at the open end. He slipped back out of the tent, first cautiously poking his head outside and scanning the area with his keen eyes. He saw no orcs close by and he left the supply tent behind. He cautiously made his way back to the one where he and Gimli were resting and was relieved to see that Gimli was still there, unattended, for it meant that none of Sauron's servants had been by. Legolas sat cross legged on the floor, putting the sack between Gimli and himself.

"Here," he said as he undid the knot. "Let us eat to regain our strength." His voice was low, just barely a whisper.

Gimli's eyes lit up as hope came back to him, for he had spent the better part of Legolas' absence contemplating dark thoughts of all that could possibly go wrong. But with food and shelter in their possession, some of his bleak thoughts lifted. He took up some meat and a half a loaf of bread.

"Let us be sparing, my friend," Legolas said. "I do not think I will be able to make a second run to the supply tent where I got this food from. What we have here must last us for the remainder of the journey."

Gimli frowned. Even in the best of circumstances, the food looked as if it would only just barely last until they arrived that the Cracks of Doom.

"Once it becomes dark, we will make as if we are headed to the far furnaces," Legolas continued. "Only when it becomes utterly dark will we change our course."

He shifted his body and stretched out on the floor. Almost immediately, sleep took him. Gimli packed the rest of the provisions and followed the elf's lead. Neither the elf nor the dwarf stirred until after the sun had set and, once they were ready, they slipped out of the tent and headed into the deep darkness of Mordor.


	10. Chapter Ten

Legolas had hoped to bypass most of the activity that Mordor housed by leaving in the darkness of night. The orcs that spent the day tending to the workings of the Land of Shadow surely must then take rest in the night, he had reasoned. But it was, perhaps, that he had grown overconfident in his fortune thus far. He had neglected to account for the scores of orcs who worked by firelight all throughout the night. Some were higher ranking officers in Sauron's army, driving on the others in their various tasks. Dwarves too, labored away in the deadness of the night, and all around him, Legolas could hear the sounds of metal being worked into weapons. He tried to ignore it at first; tried to drive out the sounds by thinking on more pleasant elven songs, but he remained, for the most part, unsuccessful and his thoughts kept turning to the road ahead of him. He was a week perhaps, from the foot of Mount Doom, for he knew that both the enemy eyes that surrounded him and the weight of the ring would slow his progress.

In truth, he had only one thing in his favor, and that was the fact that the eight remaining Nazgul were said to be abroad. It seemed that (and this Legolas heard in passing a group of urak-hai lieutenants) the wraiths had gone to reestablish Sauron's hold on Dol Guldur in Southern Mirkwood. This thought grieved Legolas' heart terribly, for Mirkwood was his homeland and the elves of that land had exerted much effort in trying to purge those woods of evil. And yet, for all the unshed tears that this news brought him, Legolas could not help but to be relieved, for the absence of the Nazgul in Mordor meant that his movements within the land would be under less observance. It was true that he had to been ever mindful of the Eye, but with all the activity taking place in that land, Legolas was certain that his movements would be quite lost in the mix of things. His biggest concern was the orcs that he passed by at regular intervals.

Still, for the most part, he was left alone, the orcs seemingly too busy with their own tasks to bother much about the badly scarred elf and the beaten looking dwarf. Two days passed without so much as a grunt being offered to him by the creatures. But by then Legolas had secured more fitting raiment for his situation, though the opportunity presented itself by sheer luck. On the first night since leaving the tent they had shared, Legolas and Gimli happened upon a battle. Several of the Mordor orcs were in an argument with others who seemed to have come from the Misty Mountains. Swords had been drawn and the creatures advanced on one another, slicing the air wildly, hoping to strike flesh.

Legolas and Gimli watched all of this from several yards away, though at their distance, the orcs were naught but silhouettes against the blaze of a campfire. When most of them had been slain, Legolas advanced upon the last remaining orc and ran him through with the sword he had taken when he had been reunited with Gimli. Then he had sized up the carcasses and, finding one close to his own size, he stripped the body of its garments. Quickly shedding his own clothing, he dressed himself in the filthy rags, though he dared not to take up any of the armor that now lay accessible to him. With the ring as a burden, he doubted that he would have the strength to continue wearing it as he drew closer to the mountain. The sword and dagger he kept still as well as the cloak of Lothlorien, though he now doubted how effective the elven magic of the material would be in this land. The ring still hung about his neck, under a thick brown leather jerkin, hidden from view. Gimli took nothing, for it would not do to see him dressed in the grab of the enemy, for he was to be viewed as a slave, not as one of the orcs themselves. The same hatchet that he had taken from the orc who had held him in chains many days before remained hidden under folds of cloth. The two companions left the bodies of the orcs and continued onwards.

As they trekked ever deeper into Mordor, they found that the air became heavier and hotter. Each breath became harder to take, feeling somehow thick and stifling. Legolas began to wheeze slightly as he breathed. The ring grew ever heavier around his neck and the rope from whence it hung began to bite into his flesh. On the eve of the third day since leaving the tent encampment, he could stand it no longer. He lifted the rope and ring from his neck and eased it into a tight pocket on the inner left side of the leather jerkin he wore. It would be secure there, he reasoned, and less accessible to his reach. He noted to himself that as much as he tried to ignore the temptation that the ring held, it had begun to grow as a threat to his mind. He did not desire to use it, but as the ring found itself coming nearer to its master's tower, it became heavier to bear, and Legolas found that he often reached to his neck to touch the ring, despite his best efforts to ignore it. With it securely tucked away, it would be harder to reach and for a time, Legolas found that this also helped to clear his mind, though it did nothing to lift the weight of the ring from him.

The fourth day came to pass and Legolas found that the activity of Mordor increased as he drew nearer to the tower which housed the restless Eye. Orcs marched to and fro, making haste to complete their tasks. Legolas swallowed and took his sword from its sheath. Lightly and with a word of apology to Gimli, he pressed the sharp point into the dwarf's back, resting it somewhere towards the middle area. In this manner he marched his friend before him and as they passed a group of orcs, and Legolas could hear them laughing at the dwarf's misfortune. It boiled his blood, but he grit his teeth and kept pressing forward. It was during this time that Legolas found himself becoming the most nervous, for here the land swarmed with the enemy. There was no place to turn for refuge; no place to hide. His heart beat rapidly and his head swam in the heat, thoughts of the ring clouding it. He briefly wondered why he had taken such responsibility on himself. Surely there were others far more suited for this task. Why could he not have given the ring over to Elrond or Celeborn or even the warrior Glorfindel? The small golden trinket was far more powerful than he had supposed. It was true that he had never thought of it whilst the Fellowship still remained, save for the thought of how best to smuggle it into Mordor so that the hobbit Frodo could destroy it once and for all. During that time, he had never touched the ring, never felt its weight, never felt its power. But when he had retrieved it from the field of battle as Aragorn lay dead and the Fellowship all but destroyed, he had come to know all that, and the ring now worked hard to tempt him into using it. It was true that Legolas' mind was still his own and he still did not desire to use the ring. It was also true that although Legolas had the passing thought of others better suited for this task, he still did not regret his decision. He had taken an oath to see the ring destroyed at all costs. As one of the Nine Walkers, he was bound to the ring's fate, though some would argue that it was not his burden to bear.

_And,_ he thought to himself as he walked,_ to give the ring over to a powerful elf lord or warrior would only ensure failure. Sauron would suspect that something was amiss and that elf would be killed and the ring ultimately reclaimed. No, it is better that I am the one to carry it, for by some strange fortune, my true identity is not known. I am merely a captured elf who has successfully been transformed, in mind at least, into one of the foul orcs._

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he found that he and Gimli had come to the edge of another encampment, this one laying just beyond the tower. At the far end, countless slaves labored away to tend an enormous furnace while still others used the heat to melt metal so that it could be reformed into armor. Legolas chanced a glance upwards and saw that the dawn was not far off. He and Gimli had been traveling since before the night had fully descended upon them. Neither the dwarf nor the elf would have the strength to circumvent the encampment. They would have to stop and rest, though Legolas feared what sort of delay this might cause. They entered onto the worn footpath grudgingly.

"You there!" called out a gravelly voice. "You're late!"

Legolas glanced around and saw an urak-hai warrior heading towards him. His grip on his sword tightened of its own accord and he mentally tried to calm his heartbeat.

"Me?" he asked.

"That's right, maggot. Those dwarves were supposed to be here yesterday!"

Legolas drew himself up to his full height and made his answer. "This scum is not for here."

The urak looked at him for a moment without speaking. He seemed to be trying to think of something that remained just out of reach. Legolas took the opportunity to scan the far distance, looking ever towards Mount Doom, and with his elven sight, could just make out the reek of other furnaces settled before the mountain's feet.

After a moment Legolas spoke again. "This dwarf was requested to work the furnaces closest to the mountain," he said, with just enough of a challenge in his voice. "I will rest here for this day, for I have traveled all this night. Then I shall take to the road once more."

"The fair one wishes to rest," replied the urak-hai as two lean orcs hobbled over his side. Legolas guessed from their limping that they had been permanently wounded in one of the battles during the war. Both orcs laughed, sharing some joke that the urak-hai had made. He silenced them with a gesture and spoke to them both directly. "My lads are short-handed. Take these two to the far furnace. Put the dwarf to work there. As for this half-orc, you know what to do."

"Right," said the orc with the bad left leg and arm. He licked his lips as if the thought of Legolas' destination was some sweet delicacy. "Move it now," he said, addressing Legolas. "We haven't got all day."

Legolas went quietly, not daring to protest, and silently ushered Gimli onwards. They followed the gray skinned orc with the mangled right foot, while the other fell behind to ensure that neither the elf nor the dwarf tried to slip away. As they progressed a sense of dread came over the elf prince.

Less then an hour passed in this fashion until at last they reached the northern end of the encampment. The gray orc led Gimli away towards the furnace after speaking with several other orcs who stood by. Legolas guessed, or rather hoped, that they were being given instructions not to kill the dwarf, for the elf managed to see a look of surprise pass over the face of one of the others. No specially requested labor could be damaged before reaching its destination. But this look only lasted a brief moment and Gimli was ushered towards the ever hungry machinery while Legolas was led in the opposite direction. A tall, gaunt orc led him between two rows of tents until he reached a large brown one at the end of the left hand row. He pushed the flap aside and pushed Legolas inside before signaling for two surly urak-hai torturers to join him.

Immediately upon entering the tent, Legolas felt his heart sink. This was a torture tent, not much unlike the one he had visited daily in the prison camp back in Ithilien, yet this one was more elaborate. Instead of a single stake in the center of the dirt floor, he saw varying wooden and metal frames making a nearly complete circle around the tent.

_This place must be used for large groups of elves to be brutalized in,_ he thought unhappily.

He was led to the metal frame directly across from the entrance to the tent and was stripped naked, something he had become accustomed to in the other camp. His clothes were tossed unceremoniously into a heap to his right. Now the uraks approached him, though they bore no weapons in hand. Instead, they cracked their knuckles loudly and slipped something over their fingers. Legolas only caught a brief glance at the objects, which seemed to be series of four metal rings that slipped onto their fingers and rested tightly over their knuckles, leaving sharp barbs sticking up from their tightly clenched fists.

Legolas nearly cried aloud as the first savage punch caught him directly in the stomach. The metal points tore into his flesh, taking small chunks with them as they retreated. The next punch caught him in his right shoulder blade, but Legolas was prepared his time. As he had done in the other camp, he tried to move his mind beyond the pain, but this time, he had little success. Weakness, despair, and thoughts of the ring swam in his mind. As the urak standing before him began to assault his face, hope faded from the elf.

How long he endured his torture, Legolas did not know. He dared not count the number of times that the fists drove into him or the flashes of blinding pain that tore through his aching body. It was as if the enemy creatures had been seized by a sudden urgency to make Legolas' transformation into an orc complete. Still, he endured all of this without a sound, trying to ignore the trickles of sweat and blood that rolled down his body. After a while he heard the flap of the tent rustle as the smaller orc exited. Legolas sighed inwardly, thinking his torment to be nearly over. A few moments passed before he heard the creature come back into the tent. The two uraks backed away momentarily, and Legolas could feel that it would only be a matter of moments before he was released and allowed to have some rest. He could scarcely wait until the bliss of the nothingness of sleep took hold of him. That was when he felt it, the searing pain of scalding hot metal being pressed into his back. Despite himself, he heard himself scream. Behind him, the orc cracked a cruel grin and stepped around to Legolas' front. The metal pole was raised and slammed into the elf's chest, searing the flesh over his heart with the insignia of the Eye.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Not long after being branded with the marks of the enemy, Legolas was freed. Hurriedly, he grabbed up his clothing and dressed, save for the jerkin. This he clutched tightly and he stumbled along after the orc. It may have been midday, but in his weariness and pain, Legolas did not take notice. His only focus was on making it to a tent so that he could sleep. Ahead of him, the orc stopped and pointed to the right with a finger that seemed to be missing half its length. Legolas nodded and silently hoped to see Gimli inside. Carefully he picked his way to the tent, trying his best not to move into a position that aggravated his wounds. Painful minutes passed before he reached the dirty tent and staggered inside, holding his breath in anticipation.

His breath came out once more in a grateful rush. Gimli lay in one corner, already lightly snoring, his chest rising and falling in a deep rhythmic pattern. Legolas slightly thanked the Valar and he eased himself down onto the floor. He had much to be thankful for thus far. Gimli was still at his side and by some good grace, the creatures who had spent the better part of the morning torturing him had left his belongings unspoiled. The ring, though it had been dangerously exposed, remained hidden to enemy eyes. He touched the supple leather and felt the slight bulge in the inner pocket. He smiled grimly.

_If only now my luck will hold for a while longer. A few more days, if all goes well, and this world shall be rid of this evil for good,_ he thought just before sleep took him.

It was Gimli who awoke first, for though the orcs had taken him to work the furnaces, he had gotten back to the tent well before Legolas had. His heart had burned with the desire to seek out what evil may have befallen his friend and only the knowledge that he, and most likely Legolas as well, would be killed in suspicion held him back. Despite his best efforts to remain awake to wait for Legolas, he had fallen asleep. Now he was rested, though the thought of further sleep was not wholly unappealing to him. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of a hand. Once his eyes focused, he caught sight of Legolas and a gasp bubbled up in his throat. His friend was coated in blood and lay gingerly on his side. Gimli glanced around, wishing he could do something. His hands flexed as thoughts of taking up his makeshift axe and slicing orc necks flashed in his mind. How he wished that such dreams could be fulfilled!

Instead, he saw a small stone jar of water in the corner. He went to it and peered inside. It was only half full and when he sniffed it, it seemed to be a little stagnant. Still, an idea formed in his mind. He tore of a length of his traveling cloak and balled it up before sticking it into the wide jug. He felt the material soak up the water and pulled it back out once more, gently squeezing some of the excess liquid from it. He did not much care for keeping the water supply completely clean, for it would not be drinkable, he reasoned. He took the wet rag and brought it to Legolas' upward shoulder and began to cleanse the elf's wounds, trying hard not to stare at the emblem that had been seared into his skin. Gimli tensed as the cloth came into contact with Legolas' skin, for he did not wish to wake the elf. But Legolas did not stir, momentarily worrying the dwarf. But then he reasoned that Legolas had been through a great ordeal and was most likely too deep into his dreams. He continued his ministrations, working with the gentlest care that he could muster. It took some doing, as he worked unhurriedly so as not to reopen any of the slowly healing wounds, but he completed his task, save for the bloody mess that was the elf's face. This Gimli did not touch, for he did not know what sort of damage had been done there, and he wished not to cause Legolas any pain. Still, all else had been tended to, yet Legolas still lay wrapped in sleep by the time Gimli had finished. He looked at the water in the jug and saw that it was soiled a deep red. He set it to one side and eased a little food from the provisions Legolas had taken from the previous camp. As always, it was not much; just enough to quiet his protesting stomach.

It was during this time that Legolas awoke. Gimli could see the elf as he sat uneasily in his pain and confusion. He had remembered going to sleep covered in blood, yet as he looked himself over, he saw none. He certainly remembered his torture, as his body still throbbed and screamed in pain. He unsheathed his sword and used the flat end to look himself over more clearly. He frowned; his face was still a mass of dried blood.

"The jug," Gimli said, startling the elf prince slightly. "There's a wet cloth you can use to clean yourself off. Your face was the one area I was afraid to touch."

"You…did all this?" Legolas asked, touched.

"Aye."

"What for?"

"Any true friend would have done the same," the dwarf replied as he finished off the last piece of meat that he had taken. "Come, get yourself clean and eat something."

Legolas nodded and propped the sword up so that it leaned against the taunt material of the tent walls. The smooth steel gave him a decent enough reflection to work by and with careful strokes, he began to wipe at the blood. He drew in one or two sharp breaths as he tended to particularly painful sections. Still, he completed his task quickly and looked himself over once more. The area just under his left eye was swollen and stained with a dark bruise. His nose was broken, though he could not gauge how badly. He was no healer and knew of nothing that he could do to tend to such afflictions. He settled on leaving things alone for the time at hand.

He replaced his sword into its sheath and briefly his fingertips brushed lightly over his chest where the mark of the Eye now resided. It was painful to the touch, for the skin had not had the time yet to begin healing, but he traced the design absent mindedly.

"Legolas?" asked Gimli, breaking the young prince from his thoughts.

He shook his head and laughed. "Forgive me friend. My mind wandered for a moment."

He strode over to the center of the tent with three long steps and sat cross legged upon the floor. He took a small ration of food and ate.

"Have you the strength to continue our journey?" he asked the dwarf between mouthfuls.

"Me?" asked Gimli. "Surly I should be asking if you are fit to travel. You suffered more than I did."

"I am glad to hear then that you are prepared to push onwards. I fear to linger too long in one place."

"Are you certain you do not need more time?" Gimli asked, concern apparent in his voice.

Legolas nodded. "I am far from being in the most fit condition, it is true," he replied, "yet our errand can suffer no delay. Too many times now certain objects have been in danger of discovery. What matters most still remains in my possession, through some good grace, yet I would not push our fortunes. We leave as soon as it is fully dark."

Gimli nodded his approval and set about preparing for their departure.

Night came too quickly for the dwarf's liking. He was gradually becoming more nervous as the road to Mount Doom grew shorter. He said nothing of the matter to Legolas, for the elf had enough problems of his own to deal with. Gimli wondered time and again what a burden that the ring had to have been. It was certain that it grew steadily more intolerable as they came closer to their destination. He watched Legolas grow ever more sullen and withdrawn as they approached the mountain. Three days passed in this manner until, at last, they found themselves at the foot of Mount Doom.

They had traveled so that they would bypass the orc encampment at the very base of the mountain, and it was in this manner that they managed to escape further torment at the hands of the enemy. It would not be an easy climb up and once they were high enough, they would have to cut horizontally across the craggy slope to reach the doorway into the heart of the evil mountain. Gimli's heart sank as he looked upon the terrain that stood before him. Even for the healthiest dwarf, the climb would be treacherous. Now he worried about Legolas, for although the elf acted as though he was at his peak, Gimli could see that his friend was weary and bowed under the strain of the ring. Then too, the food supplies were nearly spent and the water in their wineskins had since come to end. Gimli could tell that all of these factors had begun to cause Legolas to lose hope. Yet even as they stood side by side, taking in the mountain before them, Legolas set his jaw and began his ascent.


	12. Chapter Twelve

It was dusk when Legolas and Gimli first set foot upon Mount Doom, much to the dwarf's concern. He did not wish to climb the uneven ground in the dark, for one misstep in the blackness of the night had the potential to loosen rocks under their tired feet, and this could well alert the Enemy's servants to their presence. This thought gnawed at Gimli. They had come too far and overcome too many obstacles to let one foolish mistake destroy the last hope of Middle Earth. He whispered as much to Legolas, pleading with the elf to halt his march until the dawn approached, but Legolas shook his head, refusing to be moved.

"We cannot take rest yet. We are far too exposed here. Let us climb higher and look for a hiding place where we may be shielded from the eyes of Mordor," he said.

"We cannot risk it," Gimli persisted.

"Stay if you wish," Legolas said, "but I must continue onward."

Gimli grunted, displeased at Legolas' wishes, but he said nothing and trailed the prince, carefully testing each step before fully trusting his weight to it. It was a slow climb to be sure, but he refused to risk any margin for error. The wind began to pick up in the already cloudy sky, wrapping the two in a hot breeze. In the distance, both could hear the low rumble of thunder.

"I do not like this," Gimli muttered under his breath, but his complaint was disregarded by the elf prince.

They continued to climb for another quarter of an hour before the rain hit them. At first, the rain was welcome, for both had been concerned about the availability of water. Just an hour earlier, both of them had rested and drank the last drops of water from their wineskins to soothe their burning throats. All they would have to do now was to wait for the water to collect in the nooks and crannies of the rocks. It would be a slow process of filling the pouches, but they had no other choice. For the first few minutes of the rain, Legolas and Gimli were grateful. But fortune it seemed, was not entirely on their side that night, for the storm grew more fierce, throwing down blinding sheets of water that, by some cruel twist of fate, was too hot to be comfortable. They stumbled clumsily forward as the wind whirled around them, blowing the raindrops into their eyes while other droplets pelted them with stinging force.

"Let us stop this march," Gimli shouted over the rain, as loudly as he dared. "We can go no further in this storm."

Legolas caught the pleading in the dwarf's voice and hesitantly slowed his strides. He shook his head, as if dismissing some thought. He sighed deeply and hung his head dejectedly.

"A little further up there seems to be some outcropping of rocks, a shallow cave perhaps. Let us reach that and make it our shelter for the night." He pointed in the direction of the rocks.

Gimli nodded and followed Legolas' path, movingly carefully over the wet rocks and trying not to step in the loose dirt. It would not do to leave a trail of footprints in the moistened soil for anyone to see. It was true that at the moment, the Eye had its gaze elsewhere, sometimes surveying the orc camps located near the gate, other times seemingly focused on someplace out beyond the walls of Mordor. Still, he did not trust that the Eye might suddenly swing around to look in the direction of the mountain. No, leaving any telltale marks on the mountainside would not do at all. He hunched his shoulders, feeling almost as if Sauron's gaze really had rested upon him, and he trudged steadily forward as lightening illuminated the sky once more.

When they reached the cave, they found it to be slightly deeper than Legolas had previously thought it to be and that lightened their hearts. It was true that the mouth of the cave stood only high enough for Gimli to pass under without crouching down, but inside the roof was a little higher and even Legolas could stand, though the top of his head nearly touched the ceiling. Gimli took the food supply and moved to the far wall while Legolas took up both wineskins and forged back out into the storm. He would have to collect water this night, for they did not know how long the rain would last or how fast it would dry in the heat of Mordor.

He looked around for several long moments, trying to find a place where much water had been collected. At last, he found himself before a large boulder that looked as if it had rolled down from some higher place long before. The surface was riddled with cracks and towards the right side a portion of the rock had broken off, making a deep indentation in the stone. Smiling to himself in relief over finding such a perfect water source, Legolas uncapped the wineskins and placed them in the pool of rainwater, filling them with the precious substance. Still, he sighed to himself. What should have made his heart lift in joy only darkened his mood. His mind wandered to the nearly diminished food supply. Only a few meals were left to the elf and dwarf and that was only if they cut their rations into half. The supply would last until they reached the Cracks of Doom to be sure; Legolas was determined to reach the entrance into the mountain within the next day if he could. But now, for the first time, he wondered about the return journey, not for himself, but for Gimli. Legolas was well aware that if he reached the doorway and destroyed the ring, that he also ran the risk of never returning. Gimli, on the other hand, stood a chance of making it out of Mordor alive. But that would require that the dwarf had food. There was no telling what would happen when the ring was destroyed. Perhaps the enemy creatures would flee in terror; perhaps they would stand their ground despite Sauron's destruction. In either case, he could not risk leaving Gimli with nothing to survive on.

Now Legolas capped the wineskins once more, hefting their full weight in his hands. These he slung onto his belt and then cupped his hands to drink from the small pool before him. The water was slightly muddy from dirt that had been trapped in the hole, but it was not undrinkable. He cupped his hands and drank, closing his eyes as the warm water hit his parched throat. He drank deeply, taking his fill, before he looked again at the land around him. Wishing to get an even greater line of sight, Legolas pulled himself on top of the boulder that had served as a water basin and climbed several taller rocks that must have slid down the mountainside, trailing after the boulder as it had fallen and coming to a crashing halt just behind it.

After a few minutes he reached the top and surveyed the land, feeling immediately exposed to enemy eyes. The wind whipped around him, making his wet garments stick to his lithe frame and Legolas pulled the hood over his head, not to block the wind or the wetness, but in hopes that it would help keep him hidden. He raised a slender hand to his brow and used it to block the little streams of wetness that ran down his forehead and into his eyes. He strained his eyes against the rain and strained his ears, searching for any sign that the Enemy was aware of his presence. He could find no such sign, but that did little to ease his mind, for he knew now that this last leg of the journey would be the most dangerous. He would have to be even more careful than he had already been so far.

_"You have come further than you thought possible," _he thought to himself._ "A little further and this mission shall be complete. But what then? Even if you survive this trial, what is left for you? Your family and friends are nearly all dead. Mirkwood must surely be destroyed by now. Nothing is left for you in Arda. You can pass over the Sea, true, but will the guilt of not having prevented Sauron from regaining the ring to begin with haunt you? Are the images of the unnecessary deaths of your loved ones burnt so deeply into you mind and dreams that not even the bliss of Valinor will be able to undo them? Or will you stay in Arda if you survive this task? Will you feel obliged to stay for the sake of Gimli, without whom you may not have gotten this far? You are fading, Legolas. This you already know. You have felt it since you first touched the ring to hide it from the eyes of Sauron's minions. It happened slowly and steadily at first but it has become ever the worse now that you are in the Enemy's stronghold. Will you even have the strength to see your task through?"_

He shook his head quickly, trying to dispel his dark thoughts. He tried to think on more pleasant things; tried to recall some shred of memory from a happier time; tried to think of one of the many encouraging talks his father had given him during his youth. He found his mind empty of all such thoughts and memories. Only darkness and doubt filled his heart and mind now when he most needed to draw inner strength from hope. The ring and the quest had taken everything from him.

Once more he swept his gaze over the battered landscape, but if he wished to see what path would be best to follow in the morning, he was not able to. With a sigh at the growing weight of the ring hanging from his neck, he turned to descend from his lofty perch. It was perhaps partly the fault of the wet stone beneath his feet, or the weight of the ring, or the howling wind, or the growing weariness that gnawed at his body, but after taking a cautious step or two, Legolas felt his foot slip on the smooth stone beneath him. He felt himself falling and time seemed for the moment to move painfully slow. He felt himself flail his arms as he tried to right himself, but his attempts were unsuccessful. With a blinding flash of pain, he hit the stone water basin and darkness fell over him.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

"Legolas?" called a tentative voice over the roar of the wind. "Legolas? Where have you gone to, crazy elf?"

Gimli picked his way over the mountain side. He had only expected Legolas to have been gone for a few minutes while the prince went to fill the waterskins anew. When Legolas had failed to appear after a quarter of an hour, the dwarf had grown worried and had braved his way back out into the storm. He was genuinely worried about his friend, for he could tell in the last few days that the stress of the journey was becoming threatening to the elf's very life. Legolas barely ate or spoke anymore and when he did sleep, Gimli could tell that the prince's dreams were fitful and nightmarish. During waking hours, the elf was withdrawn and irritable; totally absorbed in his own thoughts and on the path that still lay ahead. Then too, Gimli had noticed how often Legolas' hand strayed to his chest and his fingers caressed the ring hidden there underneath his leather jerkin. Gimli sighed as he pulled his wet cloak tighter around him. Where was Legolas? The dwarf certainly did not wish to spend all night out looking for the elf. He was tired beyond thought and only wished to settle down inside the dry cave and rest.

He was nearly about to give up his search when he came to the stone where Legolas lay unmoving. Had not a streak of lightning snaked through the overhead sky at that moment, and it would have been likely that Gimli would have passed by, unaware. But in the momentary flash of light, he saw a piece of cloth plastered wetly against the stone before him and he recognized it for the cloak of Lothlorien. A line of worry creased Gimli's brow as he scrambled onto the rock.

Legolas lay unmoving, blood staining his hair and the left side of his face. His body was twisted and his left arm lay at an unnatural angle. His eyes were closed and the entirety of his head rested almost within the rising pool of water. Gimli saw only too well that if Legolas had fallen any other way or if his head had rested in any other position, he would have drowned in the small pool of water. Now he gently shook the elf, hoping to bring him back to consciousness. After a moment or two of Gimli calling Legolas' name and lightly shaking his friend, Legolas' eyes slowly fluttered open. He moaned as his eyes adjusted from their bleariness.

"I am glad to see you awake," Gimli said, a relieved smile evident beneath his bedraggled beard.

Legolas smiled weakly. "I must have slipped on the rocks. I climbed up for a better view. My foot must have missed its mark when I was coming back down."

Gimli's smile turned to a frown. Elves were not known to fall or take missteps, especially not the Legolas he knew. He said nothing of this though and merely inquired whether Legolas thought if he could stand and make it to their shelter. Legolas nodded and attempted to push himself up. His movement stopped just as abruptly as he tried to move his left arm and he had to bite back a cry of pain. Gimli noticed how the elf's body tensed.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"My arm," Legolas said, gesturing to it with a nod of his head. "I think it is broken. The shoulder may be out of place as well."

"How can you tell?" Gimli asked, for he knew that Legolas was not trained in the ways of healing.

"I watched Lord Elrond, Aragorn, and many other healers for years," Legolas explained quickly. "Though I never had their gift for healing, I learned much as I studied their work."

"Well, then, what do we do?"

"Grab my arm," Legolas instructed as he eased himself into a solid seated position. "Grab the portion above the elbow. Good," he said as Gimli gently grabbed his arm. "When I tell you to, I want you to pull as hard as you can on my arm. Pull straight at you. Do it quick, for I do not wish to tarry here any longer. We are far too exposed here."

Gimli shook his head. "I cannot do this," he protested.

"You must," Legolas gently rebuked him. "Seas, mellon nin. I know you do not wish to cause me pain. I assure you that whatever pain I endure now will be less than the pain I will suffer should I be forced to leave my arm as it is."

Gimli nodded his head in defeated understanding. "Just say the word," he said, trying to sound more confident about his task than he felt.

Legolas did not reply right away. With his good hand, he grabbed up a portion of his cloak and wrung some of the excess water from it. Once he was satisfied, he stuffed the material between his teeth and bit down as hard as he could. He gave a rough jerk of his head to signal for Gimli to start pulling. The dwarf closed his eyes and hesitantly did his part, pulling Legolas' arm with a gentle yet firm force. He wondered how long he would need to keep this up even as he heard the first of Legolas' muffled screams, but after a moment he felt the limb move as the shoulder joint slide back into place. Gimli slowly opened his eyes and saw a pained but relieved look on his friend's face.

"Thank you," Legolas said as he removed the cloth from his mouth.

"There is still the matter of that break," Gimli said, gesturing to the portion of the elf's arm that Legolas cradled against his body.

"Aye," Legolas agreed. "Let us return to our camp. I think I may have an idea of what we can use for a splint once we are out of the rain."

The dwarf nodded and led the elf back down the mountainside for a short way, then turned and entered the small cave. Legolas followed behind him, glad to be sheltered from the wind and rain. Gingerly, he eased the sword and scabbard from his back and set it off to one side. Then he sank down to the floor, resting against the uneven stone wall. Gimli waited for Legolas to get settled before addressing him. Instead, he busied himself with the remains of a small thorny bush that had once lived upon the mountainside. Gimli had come across the long dead plant while Legolas had been out refilling their water supplies. Now the dwarf used his small hatchet to cut the limbs and arraigned them into a small pile. In no time at all, he had a small fire going. When he was finished, he glanced over and saw Legolas sitting quietly to one side.

"Well now," Gimli said softly, "it seems that fortune has not altogether abandoned us. A rock slide must have created this cave and buried that bush." He glanced over at Legolas, but the elf seemed not to have heard him. There was a distant look in his eyes. "Legolas?" he gently asked, and he could see his friend's attention return.

"I am sorry," he apologized. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

Gimli dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. "That matters not. Let us get that arm of yours fixed."

Legolas nodded. "Take my scabbard. If you can, take your axe and split it open. I have looked at it and it seems to be naught but hardened leather and crudely made at that. I can use the halves to brace my arm."

Gimli nodded and took up the scabbard before Legolas had even finished speaking. The fire would not last all night and so he knew that he would need to act quickly. He set about his task even before taking the time to eat, though his stomach grumbled loudly in protest. He was glad to find that Legolas' appraisal of the scabbard had been correct, for he found that the leather put up little resistance to his blade. In a short time he managed to separate the two halves and Legolas took them gratefully. Taking off his own traveling cloak, Gimli tore the material into thin strips and used them to bind the stiff leather to Legolas' arm from his elbow to his wrist, for the dwarf would see no harm come to the elven cloak worn by his friend. His task completed, he then turned his attention to rationing out some of the remaining food for their supper.

They spoke a little while they ate their poor meal, remembering the way that the world once was and of friends that they had known before the Dark Lord had come back into his throne. It was perhaps, the most cheerful camp that they had had on their journey and yet the most somber all at once, for both wondered what should happen if they reached the Cracks of Doom the following day. Of these dark thoughts, neither of them spoke, and there was heaviness in each of their hearts, for they knew that even if they reached their goal, there was no guarantee making a journey back home.

Soon after they finished their meal, the companions grew quiet and sleep took them both. Not long after, the fire dwindled and came to a sputtering death as the last of the wood turned to useless ash. Beyond the clouds and reek of Mordor, the moon climbed to its peak and began to descend once more. Legolas stirred in his sleep and woke, a sudden feeling of urgency coming over him. Something told him that he needed to continue his journey. He glanced in the direction of Gimli, who snored gently in his sleep, and shook his head.

_"Leave him here,"_ said the voice inside his mind. _"Though you have needed him thus far, you cannot risk taking him further. Leave the supplies with him, for he has a chance to turn back, to escape this land once the ring is destroyed. You know all too well that to lead him further only heightens the chance that he will perish. Leave now, while he still sleeps."_

With a sigh, Legolas knew this course of action to be in his friend's best interest. Silently, he packed a half a ration of food and his waterskin and headed out into the misty pre-dawn world.

_Saes__ – please, Mellon nin – my friend_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

When Gimli awoke from his dreams it was well past dawn. He stretched and yawned several times, his back to where Legolas had slept.

"Still asleep, I see. Or perhaps you have let me sleep overlong. Tell me, elf, I thought you were so anxious to take to the trail once more," he asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

He turned on his heel, expecting to see Legolas still asleep, for in his mind that was the only plausible explanation for the silence that he was met with. When Legolas was not to be found, the smile melted from Gimli's face. Quickly, he checked the food and saw that the supplies were slightly depleted. He glanced around the cave once more. Legolas' wineskin was gone as well. The only telltale sign that he had even been in the cave was the sword that he had carried, for that still rested against the stone wall where Legolas had discarded it the night before. Gimli knew that the elf had not left it as an indicator that he had taken his leave, but that it was left because the prince no longer had a means to carry it with.

Anger flashed in the dwarf's eyes. "How dare he think that he would be rid of me so easily," he huffed.

Quickly, he packed his meager belongings and headed cautiously out of the cave. He did not know how many hours of a head start that Legolas had on him, but he was determined to do everything in his power to close that gap.

Outside, the air was thick and hot, and as Gimli jogged along the trail, he felt as though the very air might work to smother him. All signs of the previous night's rain had vanished, for the heat had dried the rocks and soil. For this, the dwarf was silently glad, for it meant that he did not have to worry about leaving footprints in soft, muddy soil. This allowed him to move more quickly over the dusty mountainside.

Legolas too had noticed the advantages to the situation. The rain had stopped only an hour or so before he had departed the cave, but even in that short amount of time, the elf could feel the earth reverting back to a dry, cracked state. He had taken no chances and had replenished the small amount of water that he had drunk during the night.

The day progressed slowly. The heat of Mordor had seemed to double in retribution for the brief respite that the rain had provided. The very air seemed to weigh heavily upon his shoulders and his brow was moistened with a fine coating of sweat. With every step forward that he took, the elf prince could feel his strength diminish. The ring became almost unbearably heavy and dark thoughts plagued his mind. He became fearful also and often threw a nervous glance over his shoulder in the direction of Sauron's tower. Every step forward was a test of his will and determination to go on. It became ever the more frequent that he was forced to give up the path and rest. During these times he would meditate to collect enough strength to last another march.

The sun slowly crawled into the noon position and made just as slow of a descent once more. Reluctantly, Legolas found a place to spend part of the night, the knowledge that he would not be reaching the Cracks of Doom that night a bitter blow to his heart. Still, he knew that he had no choice but to stop and rest. He had no energy to go further that night. He found a place to rest a few hours and ate what little food he had taken with him. He now had no further provisions with him, save for his half full waterskin. Reaching the doorway the following day was no longer an option; it had become an absolute necessity. He pulled his cloak over his body and slipped into an uneasy sleep.

It was just before dawn when he awoke, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and fear freezing his blood. He dared not move, trying to figure out what had caused his heart to falter. He did not have to wait long, for after a moment or two, he heard it. High above, he could hear the beating of leathery wings and the chill cry of the Nazgul.

_"They must have returned from whatever task Sauron set for them,"_ Legolas thought. _"This is ill news indeed."_

He held his breath, waiting and hoping that the elven cloak would hide him against the dull mountainside. He listened to the wings, heard them circling the mountain. Then it was perhaps, that the cloak still held some virtue, for after two or three circles, he heard them moving off once more, in the direction of the Dark Lord's tower. A sigh of relief escaped Legolas' lips and he was about to move when he froze once more. Somehow he knew that Sauron's gaze rested upon the mountainside. He lay unmoving, save for his right hand, which inched ever closer to the ring. In his mind's voice, he could hear the ring calling to him, pressing him to but slip it over one finger. Another voice entered his mind, just as strong, steeling his will against the temptation. His hand gave a few more twitches of its own accord and then suddenly lay still. Legolas moved his arm from his chest and lay it by his side, not daring to think how close he had come to giving into the ring's power.

Long minutes passed that seemed more like hours to the elf, before he felt his fear growing less. He cautiously lifted a corner of his cloak and peered out into the distance. The great Eye had shifted its gaze to the furnaces closest to the Black Gate. Legolas let out a small sigh, perceiving no danger in taking to his feet again. His stomach rumbled in protest, demanding food, but Legolas had nothing left, no provisions of any degree. He drank a few mouthfuls of water to try and quell the gurgling organ. He adjusted his cloak and set out once more.

Hours passed and the uphill climb became more and more of a torment to the battered prince. His head drooped ever the more closely to the ground from the weight of the ring. By noon his head had sunk down to rest against his chest and lifting it to look ahead was all but painful. He rested more and more frequently, his body wanting to shut down from lack of food and proper rest, but the ring still plagued his thoughts. It was only through the sheer force of his will that Legolas was able to continue onwards.

The afternoon progressed and above the reek of Mordor, the sun began to drop lower in the sky. Legolas' heart began to doubt and despair. He knew that if he did not make it into the mountain, his task would be met with failure. He had not the strength to go on much longer. If he were forced to stop for the night in his fatigue, he knew he would not have the strength to take to the path the following morning. He forged silently onward, his breath coming in ragged gasps and he began to wheeze in the heat. His lungs felt tight in the thick air and his legs leaden. His wineskin was almost empty of water, for he often felt the absolute need take even small sips to soothe his burning throat. He wondered if he would be able to complete his task.

Legolas had been traveling for some time, his thoughts lost to his despair, when he chanced a glance upwards. It was then that hope both entered into his heart and then immediately forsook him. He crouched behind a large boulder and mulled the situation over in his mind. The door into the mountain was directly before him. He could be inside within minutes if he pressed his will to it, yet for all the closeness of his goal, two obstacles still stood in his path. Two monstrous mountain trolls stood guard at either side of the doorway, huge clubs at their disposal. Immediately, Legolas felt a pang of regret for having left his sword behind in the cave with Gimli.

_Perhaps that was an unwise move,_ he thought bitterly, as he realized the only weapon still left to him was his small dagger, which still lay hidden in his boot. He shook his head. _Even with a trustworthy blade and the use of both my arms, taking down a troll by sword is folly. My best hope would be to have a sturdy bow and a few arrows to slay these creatures with. Still, I must find some way to kill them or slip by them, but how?_

He ran over a list of possibilities in his mind. He could perhaps wait until the trolls slept and slip by them unnoticed. He shook his head at the thought. Even as he thought about the plausibility of this plan, he could see one of the trolls sit and lean back against the wall of the mountain. The trolls were taking turns on watch, having most likely been trained to never leave the entrance unguarded. Time was running out, Legolas realized. He needed a plan and needed to implement it quickly. He fixed his eyes on the trolls in thought. After a few minutes, he crept out from behind the rock and stealthily moved to situate himself behind another boulder that lay closer to the doorway and the trolls. He did this several times, for here the ground was littered with broken boulders. At last, he could go no further without coming into the visual path of the one troll which remained awake. Still he had no plan. His right hand crept up once more to his breast.

_The ring!_ The thought was both promising and terrifying in the same moment. _If I wear the ring I can slip by the trolls without alerting them to my presence. If I can force myself to move quickly, I can be inside and destroy the Bane of Arda before Sauron can send his minions to stop me. And yet, the peril of using the ring seems far too great. If I am delayed or if Sauron has servants nearby, I will not have the strength to fight them off. Do I dare risk it? Do I chance the fate of Middle Earth?_

Legolas pulled his hand away and stared at the trolls once more. He gave a soft sigh. No other option presented itself to him. In his mind, using the ring was his only option. He would have to risk failure for a chance at victory. He grabbed hold of the rope around his neck and gave a quick tug, snapping the fraying fibers. He threw the rope to the ground and stared at first the doorway and then the ring. Mentally, he prepared himself for what was to come and then, before he could change his mind, he slipped the ring over his finger.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize in advance for making this chapter so "chopped up" in feeling. Being a filmmaker at heart (or at least, film is my passion), I tend to see my stories unfold in my mind in the same way that a film does. I write my stories in the way that my mind forms them. In the case of this chapter, the events unfolded themselves in my mind as a fully edited piece of footage, shifting between the events that Gimli is witnessing and what Legolas is actually going through. I do hope that that this does not impede your reading experience. Rather, I hope that it enhances it. On the up side, this will be one of the slightly longer chapters of the story. Now, without further ado, I give you Chapter 15.

LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR….LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…

Gimli could see Legolas ahead of him as he darted across the mountainside, but he did not call out to the elf. His breathing was labored from his quickened pace and he felt as if he would never be able to take in enough air again to soothe his burning lungs. Still, part of him was pleased. Despite his fears, he had managed to close the traveling gap between Legolas and himself, though he did not know that that was largely due to the frequent stops Legolas was forced to make. Gimli slowed his march as he looked around. His eye caught the two trolls guarding the Cracks of Doom and the dwarf quickly hid himself among the rocks. Slowly he crept along the boulders until he could clearly see Legolas once more. The elf was fiddling with something on his neck. A warning shot through Gimli's mind. He could see clearly now that the prince held the ring in his hand. In the next instant, Legolas was gone.

Immediately, Sauron's gaze swung to the mountain, and Gimli was thankful for the boulders which blocked him from the Enemy's view. In the distance, the shrill cry of the Nazgul rent the air. Gimli cowered behind the rocks in spite of himself, hugging his knees to his chest and throwing the hood of his cloak over his head, praying that the tattered brown material would hide him from sight.

Legolas had noticed the change in the atmosphere as well, but he did not hide, though the screams of the eight wraiths chilled his very bones. He knew that he could not hide from the Enemy's servants, for they would be drawn to the power of the ring. His only chance was to make a desperate run for the fires of Mount Doom and destroy the ring. He was not far now; the ring heightened his senses to an almost painful level and he could hear the bubbling lava inside the core of the mountain. He summoned his remaining energy and broke out into a run, knowing that to hesitate now would mean failure to all but Sauron.

Both trolls were on their feet now, having sensed the shift in their master's mood. Legolas heeded straight for the small space between their bodies, ever mindful of the heavy clubs that they now swung in anger and confusion. The cries of the Ringwraiths grew closer. Legolas forced himself to run faster than he had thought possible, fear and adrenaline powering his movements. He closed the distance between himself and the trolls. Though they could not see him, he could tell that the creatures could sense his presence. With every step he took, the savage swipes of their clubs grew to be ever the more furious and wild. Legolas kept his eyes trained on the weapons as he ran, counting the time between their movements. Within minutes, he reached the feet of the trolls. He stopped briefly, waiting for his chance. Behind him, he could hear the winged mounts of the Nazgul swooping down from the sky. At least one of them had already landed amongst the stones. Before him, Legolas could feel the rush of stifling air that came from the mountain's inner chamber. Again he counted the club swings until at last his chance came and he was able to slip between the trolls, the clubs crashing behind him just inches away. He was inside the mountain now.

Outside, Gimli could only guess as to the position of Legolas, for there was no telltale sign to mark where the elf stood. The dwarf could only hope that the elf would be able to, if indeed he had not already, avoid the blows that the trolls were dealing, their thick clubs crashing against the ground again and again. Not far from him, the Nazgul urged their mounts to a landing. Immediately, Gimli shrank down against the rocks, trying to steady his nervous breathing. There was a crunch of small, gravelly, rocks under the iron shod feet as the wraiths made their way towards the doorway. Gimli held his breath and after a moment, he heard the Ringwraiths moving away once more. He dared not wonder if his presence had gone unnoticed or if they had merely thought him to be of no importance or threat. Cautiously, the dwarf peeked over the edge of the boulders and watched as the wraiths reached the doorway. The trolls immediately calmed their wild club blows and let the Nazgul pass by. When the last of the Black Riders had gone through the opening, the trolls moved together, standing as a living wall before the entrance into the mountain. Gimli's heart sank. There was now no way for him to aid Legolas. All he could do now was to hope for the best.

Inside the cavern, Legolas continued his trek to the rim of the stone causeway that reached out towards the center of the chamber. For as long as he could, he kept his pace, not daring to slow down if it could be avoided, and tearing the ring off of his finger as he moved. Immediately, a sense of relief flooded over his body, for while he had worn the ring, it had felt almost as if the golden trinket had been sapping the very life from him, though all his senses had been considerably heightened. All around him, the very air seemed to buzz and tremble from the heat of the evil fires within the belly of the mountain. The sound of the churning and bubbling lava was almost deafening to the prince's sensitive ears. Still he ran onward, fear and adrenaline pushing him onward. He made it halfway out onto the uneven stone precipice before he felt his pace slacken of its own accord. He was quickly running out of energy. Despite his best judgment, his feet brought him to a halt.

Legolas stood there for a moment, panting and wheezing from his trial. His body was bent in half and his hands gripped at his lower thighs for enough support to keep him standing. He took a large gulp of water from his wineskin, emptying it in the same motion, and the sudden shock to his parched throat stung like dozens of tiny daggers. He tossed the empty piece of leather aside and wiped at his mouth with the back of a dusty hand. He closed his eyes, drawing his energy together, but he dared not to do this for more than a moment or two. Behind him, he could hear the Nazgul approaching and fear forced his aching feet and body to press onwards once more. His pace lacked the ground-eating momentum that it had before his rest, but the elf was merely glad to be moving forward once more. He made his way, half stumbling in his exhaustion, nearly to the edge of the rocky shelf, but his earlier rest had cost him dearly.

Outside the cavern, Gimli had managed to slip among the rocks once more, putting him closer to the doorway and away from the hungry mouths of the flying beasts that the Nazgul had ridden. Still he eyed the guardian trolls. They had not moved a muscle since the Black Riders had entered into the heart of the mountain. He fingered his axe in frustration, running his index finger over the well sharpened edge. There was nothing he could do for Legolas now, and for that, he felt ashamed. He should have seen Legolas' disappearance coming, his mind told him. He should have been ready for the elf to make such a move. It was his fault that Legolas was within Mount Doom with no one there at his side to offer him aid.

A sudden noise behind him jarred him from his internal self reproach. One of the fell creatures had spotted the dwarf among the rocks, and had worked its way slowly towards him. Gimli turned sharply, only just in time to avoid the creature's crushing jaws as they snapped at him. He raised his axe as he leapt to one side and brought it down on the thick neck with all his might. The blade sunk into the leathery flesh right where the head met the muscular neck. The creature half roared, half screeched in pain. Four more blows were dealt before the beast lay dead upon the ground, its head roughly hewn from its body. But the fight had not gone unmarked by the rest of the Ringwraiths' mounts. They too approached Gimli. The heat of battle rose up in the dwarf's blood and the grip on his axe tightened. If he could not help Legolas inside, he reasoned, he would make certain that the Nazgul would have no way off the mountain. He threw one nervous glance over his shoulder at the trolls. Both were looking in his direction, anger on their malformed faces, but they stayed rooted to their posts, much to Gimli's relief. He set to work slaying the dragon-like creatures.

The wraiths had caught up to Legolas and now were within an arm's reach of his body. From the corners of his eyes, Legolas could see the black robes gaining on him and soon passing him by. In an instant, he was surrounded, Morgul blades inching ever closer to his flesh. Instinctively, he took a fearful step backwards, but as his skin made contact with the sharp points of enemy swords, he halted his movements. The new leader among them extended a hand towards Legolas, and the elf felt the sudden urge to surrender the ring. He shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind of the ring's influence. His fist tightened around it and Legolas could feel the smooth edges leaving their imprint in his palm. He made a motion to grab at his dagger, not wishing to give up without a fight, but the wraiths were too close to him. At his movement, the Nazgul leader drew back his hand and unsheathed his sword. Legolas' heart beat wildly in fear and his mind whirred as it sought to find a way out of the current situation. He saw no openings, no chance of escape. The wraiths raised their swords. Legolas' eyes went wide.

Eight blades plunged into his body at the same instant and were removed just as roughly. A blood freezing scream erupted from his throat and bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Legolas staggered in place and lurched forward. He crumpled to his knees, and used his good hand to clutch protectively across his waist, not knowing which wound to cover first. He did not need to look down or inspect his bloody hand to know that the wounds were fatal. He felt his body sway a little and the metallic taste of blood rise in his mouth. He opened his mouth a little and the blood oozed over his lower lip in a slow river. He looked up at the Nazgul, who still stood around him, his blood tainting the blades of their swords. Anger rose up within the prince's heart and a final determination to see his task though washed over him. With the absolute last reserve of his strength, he coiled his good arm to him and used the greatest force he could muster to launch the ring right between the bodies of two of the wraiths that stood to his left. He held his breath and watched as the ring flew between the armored feet. After a tense moment, he heard the shriek of the Nazgul as the ring plunged over the side of the causeway and into the bubbling pool of lava. Satisfied and with his heart greatly lightened, Legolas expelled his last shuddering breath and let his spirit pass into the Halls of Mandos.

Outside, the tattered remnants Legolas' scream reached Gimli's ears and his heart immediately sank. He could sense that the cry had been caused by the Nazgul and if that were true, then it meant that Legolas had been killed. Tears sprung up in the dwarf's eyes and rolled down his dirt streaked cheeks. He did not bother to brush them away. The hurt and the anger within him were too great. Part of him wished that he could take up his makeshift axe and slay the wraiths as he had their winged mounts. He took a hesitant step forward and then stopped as the mountain shook angrily beneath him. He glanced at the doorway, but the trolls were already gone, making their way down the slope in a terrified run. Gimli swung his gaze around to the Enemy's tower, but the Eye was twisting painfully. There was a cracking sound like thunder as the foundation of the tower split. All around him, the acrid smell of brimstone became unbearably oppressive as the mountain began to spew lava and ash from its cone. From the doorway, a second river of fire poured forth onto the mountainside. Gimli saw all this with a brief glance over his shoulder. He dropped his axe in fear and ran down the slope as fast as his tired legs would carry him, knowing only too well that Legolas truly had met his end, if not by the Nazgul, then by the molten rock. Blindly, he flew down the mountainside, fear and grief consuming him, not caring what evil eyes might see him. Behind him, he could hear the lava churningas it chased after him. He ran faster, pushing himself past what limits he thought he had, but in his haste, his right foot caught on a piece of uneven rock. He fell forward among the rocks, unable to stop his momentum as he continued to slide down the rocky mountain. Before him, a broken boulder stood in his path. Gimli saw it and panicked slightly as he tried to drag his hands among the rocks to slow his progress towards it. He grit his teeth as the passing rocks tore the flesh on his hands until they bled from dozens of cuts, but his found that for all his effort, his pace did not slacken. He hit the rock nearly head on and was knocked unconscious.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me throughout this bleak tale (or at least, I am hoping that you're still with me after I killed off Legolas in the last chapter). This will not be the final chapter. There will be one final chapter after this, otherwise this chapter would have been huge in comparison to the others in this story. I sincerely thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read and review my work – it really helps to keep me inspired and excited about writing my stories.

LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…LOTR…

Nearly a week later, Gimli sat alone in the ruined courtyard that stood before of the palace of Minas Tirith. He still could not remember the events that led him back into the city, despite how hard he tried to force his memory back. He could only remember tripping as he ran to avoid the lava flow, sliding down the mountainside and the collision with the rock. All else that followed was a dark void in his memory, for the next thing he was aware of was waking up in the palace, the relieved face of Lord Elrond above him. Surprisingly, and to the great relief of the elven healer, the dwarf seemed to be only slightly worse for wear than could otherwise be expected. He was cut, bruised, and slightly malnourished, but aside from that, he was in good health. Within a day's time, Gimli was given leave to abandon his bed, though Elrond had given him strict orders not to exert himself too greatly.

As for Minas Tirith, Gimli sighed heavily. The city was in a bad state of disrepair and the restoration of it would be a slow, painstaking process. Many of the buildings, though they still stood for the most part, had been mistreated and now lay partially destroyed. Homes stood half burnt along the cobbled streets, while foul orc graffiti marred those buildings which still stood strong. The city gates had been smashed beyond repair; new ones would have to be fashioned for each level of the city. The white tree that had once stood in the courtyard was withered and dead. The orcs had not touched it, probably having been content that the symbol of the kings was nothing more than a tired skeleton of its former glory. Still, much in Gondor could be restored, Gimli noted to himself, though his heart sank at the thought. Aragorn was dead and the line of kings had perished with him. Sauron had succeeded in destroying the house of Numenor. However, despite all of this, Elrond had already commissioned such elves and men as he could find to begin the restoration process, saying that Minas Tirith needed to stand as a reminder to all of what Middle Earth had once been and would need to become once more. But the labor force for this venture was limited. Many of the free folk were weak from the months spent in labor camps or in hiding from the Enemy, and those that could work were a divided group. Some were eager to lend their hand to rebuilding the city. Others simply departed the city for their own homelands, hoping to rebuild those lands and reunite with such loved ones as they could find. All of this, of course, had happened even as they mourned the death of the son of King Thranduil, Legolas, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, who had destroyed the ring and freed all of Middle Earth.

Gimli sighed once more as he adjusted his position on the palace steps. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly back, giving him a better view of the peaceful night sky. The rising moon was waxing towards full and the countless stars gleamed like tiny diamonds. Here and there, a tattered shred of cloud lingered, left over from a gentle rain earlier in the day. It was quiet and calm, the sort of night that Gimli knew Legolas had been fond of. Between the clouds, the moon threw down a pure, silver light, but to the dwarf, it felt distant and cold. Angrily, Gimli shifted his gaze to stare out into the nothingness of the far horizon, but a tear made it to the corner of his eye nonetheless. He did not bother to brush it away. He had shed so many over the week since Legolas had been killed, that it no longer mattered to the dwarf how many more rolled down his cheeks, or who was there to see it. The tear struggled against his eyelid for a moment before squeezing through and beginning its downward path over the dwarf's face.

"Tell me, why do you weep, Master Dwarf?" asked a soft voice as a thick cloud sailed over to cover the moon.

Gimli looked in the direction of the voice, but could see little in the sudden darkness. Hurriedly, he brushed the tear away. "Have you not heard what events have come to pass?" he asked.

"I have," replied the voice and Gimli decided that it belonged to one of the elves who still resided within the city. Perhaps it was one of Haldir's warriors. The voice spoke again. "Yet it seems to me, that this is a time for celebration, not grief. Middle Earth has been liberated from a great evil."

"But not without great loss," the dwarf countered angrily. "My best friend died to save us all."

"I have heard rumor of that," came the reply. "Some say that the Prince of Mirkwood was responsible for Sauron's defeat."

"Aye," Gimli said. "You heard correctly. Tell me though, Master Elf, who are you that this news is naught but a rumor to you?"

The figure was silent for a moment. The cloud that had hidden the moon was swept away by a light breeze, and the light of the moon flooded the courtyard once more. Gimli could now see the figure of the elf, though a hooded cloak prevented him from seeing just who those folds of fabric covered. Two other such figures flanked the speaker on either side.

"Come now!" Gimli demanded, getting to his feet. He was becoming angrier and more uncomfortable by the moment. "Speak!"

"I am one who has returned to this city despite all odds," came the reply, the words sounding carefully chosen. "Tell me, who is in charge of the city? I must speak with them."

Suspicion rose in Gimli and he planted himself firmly in front of the battered citadel doors. "You will see no one until I know who you are," he said defiantly.

"That you already know," replied the figure. "Or can it be that you have already forgotten me?"

"Enough of your riddles," Gimli challenged him. "Speak plainly!"

The figure gave an audible sigh. "As you wish, though I suggest perhaps that you take a seat."

"I will not!"

The figure made no reply. To the two others on either side, it gave a quick nod. Three pairs of hands reached up and slowly slid the hoods back over their heads, exposing their identities little by little. When at last their heads were uncovered, they raised their heads to allow Gimli a full view of who they were. The dwarf's eyes widened and he staggered a moment, until he landed on the stone steps in an awkward sit down. His legs had failed him as he saw who it was that stood before him and fresh tears rushed to his eyes.

"How can this be?" he whispered. "Legolas!"

The elf smiled at the dwarf warmly. "Forgive my earlier secrecy. I did not know how best to reveal myself to you."

"You died," Gimli said, continuing his train of thought as though Legolas had not spoken.

Legolas nodded. "So I did. I will explain everything inside. I have heard tale that Lord Elrond is here."

"Aye. I will take you to him," Gimli said as he pulled his unsteady legs underneath himself to stand.

As the dwarf stood, Legolas crossed the distance between them and pulled his friend into a tight embrace. When they broke, Gimli glanced behind the elf, seeing, for the first time, who the other two silent figures had been. His heart caught in his throat as he realized that more than one miracle had taken place.

"Lady Arwen, Faramir," he greeted the two. "I am so pleased to see that your hidden shelter served well to protect you." He shook his head slowly, as though he were still unsure if the three before him were real. A small laugh escaped his lips. "I must look like such a fool," he mused aloud. "Forgive me my manners! Let us sit inside. Elrond will be overjoyed to see you all."

The others nodded and Gimli spun on his heel, leading them through the decorated citadel doors. He directed them to a small meeting room that the kings of old had used as a private study. Worn books and stacks of dust-laden scrolls still adorned the shelves, which took over the far wall and most of the sides. Leaving them to settle into the plush chairs, he then sped down the marbled halls in search of Elrond. Legolas slipped the cloak from around his shoulders and draped it neatly over the back of his chair before picking up a metal poker and stirring the dying embers in the fireplace into a comfortable blaze. For good measure, he added another thick log or two to the flames from a small supply that stood nearby. Arwen and Faramir also shed their traveling cloaks and sat, waiting for Gimli's return. A few moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the fire to break the stillness. Then a smile crossed Legolas' face as he heard familiar footsteps heading back towards the study. He strained his ears to listen to what it was that Gimli was saying.

"…will be pleased with what I have to show you," Gimli was saying enthusiastically.

"Lead the way, Master Dwarf," came the elf lord's reply. To Legolas' ears, the elder elf sounded weary.

The footsteps reached the doorway and stopped for the moment as the polished doorknob turned. The heavy door swung inward on its hinges. Legolas, Arwen, and Faramir stood waiting. The door opened fully and Elrond stepped over the threshold before his mind could register who else was in the room with him.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas said, saluting the lord of Rivendell in elf fashion.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Elrond stopped, at an apparent loss for words. One piercing eye was opened wide in shock; an eye patch had covered the other since he had lost the eye fighting in the Final Alliance of the Free Folk. Legolas crossed the slight distance and guided Elrond to one of the chairs that he had pushed into a circle earlier.

"Ada," said Arwen, coming up to her father and throwing her arms about him in a tight embrace.

After a moment she felt his arms tighten about her. "Arwen, I was so afraid for you. After the collapse of Mordor, I sent out riders to find you and Faramir to bring you back here. When they came back and reported that they could not find you, I feared the worst. Thank you, Faramir, for keeping my daughter safe."

Faramir nodded in return as they all sat. "We were forced to flee to another shelter a month or so ago. Orcs had come close to discovering our hide out, so we relocated our people elsewhere. The survival of Numenor depended on it."

"Numenor is no longer," Elrond said darkly. "Aragorn is dead and the line of kings is broken. The House of the Stewards is all that is left to rule over and protect Gondor."

Legolas shook his head and glanced over to the small bundle that Faramir held in his arms. The young Captain of Gondor caught the elf prince's glance and shifted the blankets over to Arwen's waiting arms.

"No, my lord, hope for the White City is not yet gone," the prince said softly. "Behold Eldarion, son of Aragorn and heir to the Throne of Gondor."

"What?" Elrond breathed, as though he could not quite believe this unexpected twist of events. "How can this be?"

"Aragorn and I made a promise," Arwen said as she adjusted the blankets that the sleeping prince was wrapped in. "I told him that I would bind myself to him and forsake the immortality of my people. When the Enemy regained the ring and I first was sent into hiding, there were times when Aragorn would come and see me. Then the second battle took place and he was killed…" her voice trailed off.

"The prince already takes after his father, though I knew the king only briefly," Faramir said when it became clear that Arwen would say no more. "He came strongly into this world on the first full day of Middle Earth's freedom. It seemed that he would not wait to come out and greet the peace."

A thoughtful silence came over the room, interrupted only by one of the palace servants, who came in bearing a tray of wine and fine goblets. Legolas supposed that Gimli had requested the refreshments to be brought to the room when he had gone to find Elrond earlier. He nodded this thanks to the servant, just before the man slipped silently back out of the room.

"Legolas?" Gimli asked finally, his low voice seeming loud in the quiet study. "You have yet to tell your tale to us, that is, how it is that you are alive. Then too, how is it that you look so familiar, yet so different?"

He had been gazing at his friend since he had returned to the room. In the soft orange glow of the firelight, he had noticed several things about the prince. The first thing that had struck the dwarf as odd was that there was no evidence of the abuse that Legolas had endured under the cruelty of the orcs. All scars and bruises had vanished from the fair face and the once broken nose looked as if it had been properly healed. Then too, the elf's broken arm was also healed instead of hanging immobile at his side. He wondered if the scars and brandings on the rest of Legolas' body were also gone; he hated to think that after all that he had endured, that Legolas would still have to carry the mark of the Eye upon his body. Gimli nearly shook his head as the thought entered. There was far too much evidence to suggest that Legolas had been completely healed. The whip marks and burns would most certainly be gone from the elf. His clothing was strange to Gimli; a shining silver white robe trimmed in gold and a thin golden circlet about his head, and yet they seemed pale in the powerful glow that seemed to surround him. Still, Legolas once again resembled the same elf that he had befriended as the Fellowship had traveled together. And yet, there was a certain foreign aura about the elf, though at first, Gimli could not quite place what it was exactly. He finally decided that it was the air of wisdom and power that Legolas now seemed to have. Surely the prince had already possessed such qualities, for he was one of the immortal elves; yet never before had Gimli felt so humbled by the elf's presence.

"_It is in his eyes,"_ Gimli finally decided, as he searched Legolas' face once more. _"They are far deeper, clearer, and more soulful than I have ever known them to be. They are still warm and friendly, 'tis true, yet they seem older and more remote at the same time."_

"He bears the look of one that has seen the Valar in all their glory," Elrond said without any question in his voice, bringing Gimli out of his thoughts.

Legolas nodded his head. "Lord Elrond is quite right," he said as he stood and crossed to the table where the wine sat.

He picked up the bottle and uncorked it before silently filling the waiting goblets. Once they were filled, he passed them to his friends, took up his own drink and settled back into his seat. He sat there cradling the goblet in his hand, his eyes seeming distant.

"Well?" asked Gimli, impatient for answers.

Legolas started as though taken off guard by the dwarf's voice. "I am sure that Gimli has told you the tale of those final moments on Mount Doom; how I was forced to use the ring to gain entrance into the mountain and how the Nazgul, drawn to the ring's power, soon discovered where I was," he said, addressing the small circle of his friends. "Inside the chamber I was overtaken, for the ring stole much of my dwindling strength. I was surrounded by the wraiths and mortally wounded, though I had strength enough to cast the foul trinket into the fire. My vision failed and I knew no more until I awoke within the Halls of Mandos. I stood before the Valar, who remained seated on their thrones, awaiting some judgment to be made on me. There seemed to be a long moment before they addressed me and asked me why my heart was troubled so, for I had succeeded in the task I had undertaken. 'My friend, Gimli, was on the mountainside,' I said. 'I fear now for his safety, if indeed the explosion of Mount Doom has not already claimed him.' Then Manwe summoned his eagles to go to Gimli and bear him to Minas Tirith where he would be safe. With my heart lightened, I thanked the Valar for their generosity, just as two elves entered the chamber where I was standing. They beckoned me to go with them, for the Valar had need to debate something among themselves, and once they were ready I would be summoned back to them. My heart was troubled at this, for I feared that I had perhaps committed some grave crime and that they were angry with me. 'Have I done something wrong?' I asked my escorts, but they would say nothing until we reached a small room."

"'There is a bath awaiting you inside so that you might take some rest and comfort,' said the female elf, as she opened the door. Beyond the threshold was a round pool of steaming water that was constantly replenished by a waterfall that stood on the far side. I shed my tattered clothing and entered the pool, where I positioned myself under the coursing sheet of water. That was when a strange sensation stole over me; an intense feeling as though I was walking through the hearts of a thousand fires all at once, yet I felt no discomfort of any kind. Emerging from the pool once more, I found that fresh garments had been laid out for me and yet I saw none enter the room. Near to the bench where my clothes lay waiting, was a mirror, and it was there that I first discovered that the hurts of my body had been healed, perhaps in the moments that I stood under the waterfall. As soon as I was dressed, I was summoned back to the chamber where the Valar sat awaiting me."

He stopped for a moment and took a sip of his wine. He seemed to savor the taste before continuing on. "I knelt upon entering the room, but Mandos bid me stand and be not afraid. Then Manwe spoke. 'Legolas, son of Thranduil,' he said, 'do you know why you have been summoned here?' I said that I did not, though I could only guess that I had done some wrong to incur their wrath. 'No,' he said, with a sound that perhaps was amused laughter. 'It is just the opposite. The Valar could not be happier with you. You made a great sacrifice, giving up your life to save Middle Earth. The Valar wish to reward you for your deeds.' Here he stopped for a moment and yet my heart no longer felt uneasy, for surely Manwe's words could only mean one thing. I would be rewarded with a comfortable stay in the Halls and be reunited with loved ones who had gone before me. But that was not to be so. 'Prince of Mirkwood,' said Mandos, who stood next to Manwe, 'it was never intended for your task to be that of the ringbearer. You chose that fate yourself, and although we find no fault in your judgment, your true task was never accomplished. Because of that, the Valar have decided to prohibit your entrance into the Halls past what has already been granted. The line of kingdom of Numenor stands at a critical juncture. As you know, the last living king was Aragorn.' I lowered my head against the memory of Aragorn's death as it came back to me, but Mandos smiled at me. 'Your task was to have seen Numenor restored.' I said that I did not understand what he meant. Surely with Aragorn's death, the fate of Numenor was sealed. 'What you do not know is that his spirit and legacy lives on, for even now the Lady Arwen labors to bring his son into the world. The Valar have therefore decreed that you shall be sent back into the world until your task is complete and there is a king in Gondor once more. When that time does arrive, if you live still, you will be granted access into the Undying Lands. This is the will of the Valar. Go now and may Arda prosper from your return.' There was a flash of light before me, so bright that I had to close my eyes against the intensity. When I reopened them, I was before the entrance to Arwen and Faramir's refuge. After Eldarion's birth and once Arwen was fit for travel, we secured three horses that ran free in the nearby fields. Two were bred in Edoras, judging from the brands that could still be seen on their flanks. The other was their lord, Shadowfax himself, who befriended me and allowed me his back as we traveled to Minas Tirith. Only just this evening did we arrive at the city gate."

He took a long sip of his wine and said no more, for his tale was now complete. A silence blanketed the room, broken only by the snapping and crackling of the kindling in the fireplace as it burned into ash. Eyes shifted questioningly from one occupant to another as each one wondered who would be first to break the quiet peace. It was Eldarion who eventually broke the silence, making a small fussing sound as Arwen shifted his sleeping form in her arms.

Legolas nodded his head in thought and when he spoke next, it was a low whisper and half fearful. "Lord Elrond, in my haste to explain my tale, I neglected one burning question. Have you any word on whether my father still lives?"

A strange look crossed Elrond's face for a second as he silently rebuked his own thoughtlessness. He nodded his head. "He lives indeed. Only yesterday morning did he leave with such Mirkwood elves as he could find to return to your homeland to see if his kingdom could be reestablished there. It seemed more a formality than anything else, for I suspect that his grief of losing you will cause him to depart from these shores soon."

"Then I must go to him at once," Legolas said, draining the last of his wine. He stood and placed the goblet on the tray once more. "If Shadowfax will bear me, I can reach him in less than a day. My heart fears that Mirkwood may have been destroyed or worse while the Enemy still had his power. I must depart immediately, I fear, so that I may return just as quickly to watch over Eldarion."

Elrond smiled warmly at the child as he took him from his mother's arms. "I shall help raise this child as I did his father," he said finally, still gazing at the peaceful face snuggled within the worn blankets. "As long as I reside still in this land, I will lend my services to you, Legolas. The time is not yet come for me to pass over the sea. Far too many hurts have been rendered that I must at least try to help heal, both on the land itself and the people who live still in Middle Earth. Go to your father and put his torn and broken heart to rest. We here shall look after things in your absence."

"Hannon lle," Legolas replied, saluting in elf fashion, before turning on his heel and exiting the study.

_Ada__ – father, Hannon lle – Thank You._

The End.


End file.
